


peccatophilia

by LovelyVillain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Mystery, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Step-Sibling Incest, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyVillain/pseuds/LovelyVillain
Summary: Hermione has a terrible secret. The past won’t let her go.Neither will her brother.A tale of obsession told in three parts.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This tale was inspired by the amazingly talented author **cherry cup**. Besides writing incredible fiction, cherry also creates spine-tingling playlists on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/cherry-cup/peccatophilia) and was generous enough to grant me permission to use one of her original titles for this story.
> 
> If you haven't discovered cherry's epic Tomione fic [Stepbrother](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11185107/1/Stepbrother) stop reading this shit and go read that now. Seriously. This garbage will still be here when you're done.
> 
> And now for yet another dark AU...

**peccatophilia (n.)** a love for sinning

Part One  
The Awakening

**Saturday, September 4, 1993**

Thomas Riddle and Jean Granger were married on a bright, sunny day in Southern New Hampshire.

Hermione was two weeks away from turning fourteen, yet everyone at the Church agreed she looked several years older as she stood before the crowd in her Maid of Honor gown, holding a bouquet of white calla lilies as her mother recited handwritten vows from a piece of folded notebook paper, hands shaking with emotion.

Hermione did her best to smile, to maintain her rouse of excitement and awe in the wake of such love and devotion.

But her eyes kept drifting past her mother's lace capped shoulder, beyond the broad arm of her step-father-to-be, and locking with the turbulent grey gaze of the Best Man.

Her new step-brother, once the vows were complete.

Tom Riddle Jr. was turning sixteen on the last day of the year, but every guest at the Church agreed he appeared well beyond his youth in his fine pressed tuxedo and perfectly styled hair.

What a handsome young man, the older women whispered to themselves as Hermione walked arm in arm with him down the aisle as the ceremony began.

What wonderful manners.

What a charming smile.

Hermione bit her tongue so hard it nearly bled, fighting back a cringe as he kissed her hand before releasing her to the other side of the platform. The chivalrous gesture caused an uproar in the pews, everyone gushing over the teenage boy so mature beyond his years.

If they only knew.

As the Priest read from the book of ceremonial vows Hermione felt her skin crawl, that familiar sensation of being watched, analyzed, sinking into her bones.

She knew the eyes she felt upon her were not those of the spectators. They were His eyes. Always watching. Always waiting.

Always _searching_ … for her weaknesses. Her cracks. Any way to burrow beneath her shell and poison her from the inside out.

Their parents' whirlwind romance had been just that. A chaotic hurricane that blew through Hermione's world and uprooted everything in its wake, tearing the roof off her organized life and leaving wreckage strewn behind for her to wander through aimlessly, looking for any scrap of her old self, any tiny piece of comfort and familiarity in this new dystopian hell.

Her mother's new beau wasn't a problem per se. Hermione certainly harbored no resentment towards the relationship itself. Her own father died when she was still too small to remember his face properly. Jean had maintained a string of somewhat boyfriends since then, but nothing serious, nothing like the man she was currently promising her future to. Promising her daughter's future to.

Riddle Sr. was a retired Army Sergeant, he and his only child had traveled and lived all over the world before finally settling down in New England to set down roots.

But it felt more like weeds... spreading, multiplying, climbing over the side of her body, winding around her wrists and ankles and holding her immobile.

The longer those eyes stared upon her the more magnetic their draw became. She felt her body start to tremble with the energy it took to keep her gaze averted. But it became too much, the urge too overwhelming.

She peered up, meeting the dark void head on as the Priest read the last of the vows, giving permission for the groom to kiss his bride.

As the crowd erupted into fits of cheer and applause Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. The Best Man's face tilted down a fraction, a shadow passing over his gleaming gaze as a smile slowly unfurled across his handsome face, expression utterly wicked.

And Hermione knew at that moment, before a Church full of witnesses and God himself, her fate had just been sealed.

.   .   .

The reception was in full swing, the lights turned down low as everyone took to the dance floor, the music loud and drinks flowing.

Hermione sat at the wedding party table, watching her mother spin in circles beneath her new husband's hand, face unrestrained with joy.

It made Hermione's chest ache to see the woman so happy, so full of life.

And then her mother's eyes fell upon her, expression transforming into something that had Hermione rearing back in her seat before the bride even made it across the floor.

"Get your butt up, Mione!" She shouted over the music, holding out a hand. "You sit enough at school! You're dancing tonight!"

Hermione opened her mouth, blood draining from her face. "Mom, please, I don't-"

"No excuses!" Jean grabbed her daughter's hand and tugged her out of the chair, pulling her through the throngs of dancers to the center of the bustling floor. The lights above them flashed different colors onto the crowd of bodies, adding to the already chaotic energy.

Hermione folded her arms, shoulders drawing up. "Mom, I hate dancing!" She shouted, the bass vibrating through the floor and into her calves.

"I can't hear you!" Jean called back in a mocking tone, smile wide and eyes bright. "Come on, sweetie, dance with your old mom!"

She grabbed Hermione's upper arms and started to spin her around in a circle. Hermione nearly tipped over, arms flying out to keep her balance. Her mother laughed, sharp and tipsy, and Hermione giggled as well. Shaking her head.

"Mom!"

"Sorry, sweetie!" She didn't look the least bit sorry. But as the colored lights reflected across her mother's face Hermione saw so much happiness and excitement contained within it caused her chest to crack open the rest of the way.

She sighed, resigned. Her mother recognized the look of defeat on her daughter's expression and cheered wildly, clapping with glee as Hermione finally gave in and started to dance along to the music.

They joined hands, spinning each other in graceless circles and laughing wildly, hopping to the quick beat, neither caring how they appeared to those around them. The majority of guests on the dance floor were three sheets to the wind anyway, equally uncoordinated in their movement.

As the song finally wound down Hermione deflated, breathless, giggling lightly as her mother slumped into her with exaggerated exhaustion.

A slow song started to play, the light show calming as dancers started to couple up. Hermione swayed to the slow beat with her mother, their breath calming.

"Are you happy, sweetheart?" Jean asked, voice low but eyes intense, watching her daughter carefully.

Hermione blinked, heart stuttering before she forced a smile.

"I'm happy if you are."

Jean tipped her head. "Nothing means more to me in this life than you, Hermione. I love Thomas, but you will always come first."

Hermione swallowed thickly, nodding. "I know, Mom. And I like him. I really do. I'm happy for you both."

Jean's hazel gaze flickered between her daughter's before a smile broke free across her face once more. She drew Hermione close, squeezing.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, sweetheart. I know things haven't been easy. But I want you to know that I-"

"Here you are."

Hermione jolted, spin going rigid, body freezing in place even as her mother pulled back with a bright smile.

"Tom, darling! I was wondering where you'd snuck off to."

He stood with easy grace, hands tucked into his pockets. "Needed some fresh air, took a walk around the garden." His teeth gleamed beneath the lights. "Dad's looking for you, he's over by the main table."

Jean sighed. "I guess I better go see what the old ball and chain wants." She winked at Tom, squeezing his arm. "Keep Mione company for me? I don't want her scurrying off to some dark corner to sit alone."

Hermione paled, mouth opening to protest, but then Tom's eyes fell upon her and rendered her silent.

"I'd be happy to."

Hermione clung to her mother's hand as the woman tried to extract herself. "Mom-"

"I'll be back soon, sweetie. Keep dancing, it's good exercise."

She blew Hermione an air kiss as she finally broke away, disappearing into the throng of slow dancing couples.

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides, swaying on her feet with the force of her rising dread.

"Shall we?"

She watched him extend a hand from the corner of her eye. She released a slow breath, closing her eyes, jumping when she felt cool fingers encase her wrist, pulling her arm forward. Her eyes snapped open as he stepped closer, chest pressing against her. He stood several inches taller and was still growing yet, causing her to tip her head back to see his amused gaze.

"Relax. We're brother and sister now, Hermione, there's no reason to be so nervous around me."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm not nervous."

"No?"

Her jaw flexed.

"Hm," he mused, dark brow raising. "Perhaps nervous isn't the right word for it then."

"I don't have any problem with you, Tom," she snapped and then flushed as he placed both hands at her waist and drew her even closer to the heat of his body.

"Then you have no problem dancing with me, either."

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the dance floor nervously.

No one paid them any mind, lost to their own celebration.

"No one's watching us," he whispered, head lowering beside hers, breath ghosting across her shoulder. "No one ever watches us."

She felt her pulse throb, in her neck, inside her wrists, behind her knees. Her hands clutched his upper arms like a vice, both to steady herself and to try and push distance between them.

He didn't budge, didn't flinch beneath her digging fingertips.

"I'm used to it. Learned to enjoy it even," he continued casually, as though they were having a mundane conversation at the breakfast table about the weather. "Dad's always been too busy to give me the time of day. The silver lining is I've been able to take on plenty of fascinating hobbies in the meantime, right under his nose." His eyes flashed, lips curling into a smirk. "What about you, little sister? Any hobbies?"

She felt nauseous. "I need to sit."

"The song's almost over." He squeezed her waist, keeping her pinned against him, swaying to the slow beat. "Not to worry. We'll find you something useful to occupy your time. Keep your mind sharp."

"My mind's plenty sharp."

He chuckled. Her ribcage absorbed the sound. "It needs to be even sharper if you have any hope of making it into the Ivy Leagues. That _is_ your dream, right?"

She wet her lips, staring at a random spot on the wall as they slowly moved side to side.

"I've seen the posters in your room. Yale is your first choice, yes?"

She bit her tongue, muscles tense.

"I went inside to find a pen. You always have pens. Always writing." He hummed, fingers flexing along her satin dress. "Do you keep a diary?"

The song came to an end, she nearly tipped over in relief. But his hands held her steady, restrained, even as she twisted and pulled.

"I keep a journal myself," he mused, voice light and calm in the wake of her attempts to flee. "Good way to keep my mind clear, channel emotions." He smiled outright, eyes dancing with mirth. "You should think about doing the same. You're obviously very tense."

He finally released her. She stumbled back, chest heaving with shortened breaths.

"I appreciate the suggestion," she bit out, turning around and walking away on stiff legs, heart beating through her chest.

Electricity raced up her spine as he called after her.

"See you at home, little sister!"

* * *

**Saturday, November 18, 1995**

Thomas Riddle and Jean Granger were buried on a cold, grey day in the middle of fall.

Hermione stood beside the rectangular hole containing her mother's coffin, gazing down into the dark abyss with such raging emotion it nearly rendered her in half.

Her legs were covered in gooseflesh beneath the thin black stockings she wore, fingers numb at her sides, chest a barren wasteland where her heart once pulsed, now a shriveled and blackened mass strung up by tangled veins.

She raised her head on instinct, feeling the familiar knife's edge of eyes upon her.

Tom stood across the expanse of hollowed out earth, at the side of a twin grave containing a twin coffin. The headstones they'd ordered had matching engravings. It had been Jean's request to be buried beside her new husband, despite their short marriage she'd managed to update her will accordingly. Always the organized woman. If only she'd known her final wishes would be put to use so soon.

Tom held her steady in his gaze, black weeds crawling out from the dead ground, tendrils wrapping around her ankles and spiraling up her legs, creeping up, up, up.

She swallowed thickly, jaw set. His expression was void of emotion, but his eyes were a blazing torch, illuminating the somber pocket of the cemetery with scorching heat and light.

And for the first time, Hermione willed the flames to consume her, to end this misery once and for all.

The Priest stepped forward, the same man who married the departed only two years prior, and threw a handful of dirt onto her mother's coffin. The pebbles echoed off the lid, drawing her gaze back down.

The weeds slid under her clothes, up her spine, wrapping around her neck, constricting her airway. Her vision blurred. She let the abyss take her, grateful for the silence, the emptiness of the dark.

.   .   .

The post-burial repass was held at their home. Every room on the first level was filled with mourners in varying shades of black and gray. The world was void of color, of warmth.

Hermione had sequestered herself upstairs in her bedroom for the better part of an hour. But she could still hear people talking, hushed whispers winding their way up the stairs, down the hall, through the gap beneath her door.

_Such a tragedy…_

_… so sudden…_

_… just skid off the road…_

_...died on impact._

_...those dear children…_

_… and poor Tom, having just started college._

She couldn't bear the noise, the deafening hum of voices, all tangled together, indiscernible and yet each one startling clear, ringing through her head like a battle drum.

Her Aunt's voice had been the loudest of them all, for she kept saying Hermione's name, slowly drawing near as she searched the home for her wayward niece.

_Has anyone seen Mione?_

_Have you spoken to..._

_… looked upstairs?_

_...think I saw her around back..._

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the dresser mirror, the glass bordered by photographs and science fair ribbons, birthday cards and scribbled affirmations.

She tipped her head, the world around her turning to haze as she held her stare, studying the flecks of gold in her irises. The same as her mother. A sharp pain lanced through her chest. She pressed a hand to her sternum in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, crimson soaking through her dress, pooling on the floor-

A sharp knock sounded at her door. She blinked, pulled from the dark reverie, quickly standing.

The knock sounded again.

Her Aunt had found her.

Hermione sighed, fists clenching at her sides as she slowly crossed the room, bracing herself with a hand against the knob, preparing for the look of sympathy, the pity that would surely be foisted upon her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, assurances ready on her tongue-

The words quickly turned to ash, spilling into the back of her throat and choking her.

Tom stood before her, black suit filling the narrow opening between door and frame, eyes bright and malevolent.

She quickly tried slamming the door closed but his foot shot out, dress shoe wedging itself in the jam, causing the door to bounce back, opening more. His hand curled around the wood, the battle was over, his strength easily surpassing her own, pushing the barrier away and stepping inside.

She backed up rapidly, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings inside her chest.

"What do you want, Tom?" Her voice sounded frantic, broken.

"Merely to see how you're doing, Hermione. You've been up here since we returned from the cemetery."

She swallowed as her back hit the dresser, stalling her retreat.

"I wanted time to myself."

"That's understandable." He shut the door with a deafening click that snipped away something inside her, causing her heart to drop.

He turned to face her, the sharp lines of his face casting shadows across the hollows of his cheeks and brow, enhancing his already sinister presence. "But it's not healthy to be alone at a time like this."

She tried to keep her breathing steady, hands bracing the lip of the dresser behind her, nails digging into the wood, carving crescent indentations.

"I was just about to come down."

Her voice still betrayed her heightened nerves like a neon flashing sign. He smirked, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets, walking towards her with slow calculation.

"We'll head down in a moment. I haven't got to spend any time alone with you since I got back."

She wet her lips, heart jolting painfully with every step he took.

"When did you get back to town?"

He tilted his head, gleaming eyes roaming her face, lingering at her lips.

"Yesterday. You know that. I came straight here after I got the news."

He stopped just before her, so close she could feel his breath on her face, cascading down her chin and neck.

"When the police called the school they said you'd already left two days prior."

His eyes flickered back up, something wild in their depths.

"I finished my last exam. A friend and I decided to start the holiday break early. His family spends Thanksgiving in Maine. He invited me up for a few days. We were on our way when I got the call."

A great pressure welled up inside her, pressing on her lungs, expelling all the air.

"How do you do that?"

He raised a brow.

"Do what?"

She clenched the dresser like a vice.

"Lie so flawlessly."

A beat. Then two.

And then he surged forward.

The length of his body pressed against her, causing her to arch backward over the dresser, knocking over picture frames and textbooks as she slid across the surface in a vain attempt to flee. But his hands moved faster than her eyes could process, grasping her upper arms and pinning her in place, shoulder blades flattening against the mirror, the edge of the counter digging painfully into the small of her back.

"I think you're trying to imply something, little sister." His voice was calm, detached, surreal in the wake of his wild eyes and brute force. "You know I hate it when you're passive aggressive." He shook her for emphasis, eliciting a yelp of pain. His face hovered so near to hers their noses touched. "So why don't you just say it out loud?"

She bit her lip, tears tracking down her cheeks unbidden. She hated breaking in front of him. Hated it more than she hated herself.

"I'm not implying anything-"

"Shh," he hissed across her lips, searing breath invading her mouth. "No more lies, Hermione. I always see right through them, remember?"

She tried to turn her face away but he released one of her arms and grabbed her chin, forcing her head forward, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Just say it."

"I don't-"

"Say it, Hermione!"

Her chest quaked, tears continuing to stream, expression a crumpled tapestry of pain and misery.

Tom blinked. He released her chin, easing back a fraction, just enough to allow her to suck in a gasp of air, enough to turn her head down and tremble with the force of pent up emotion.

He studied her in silence a moment more.

Then he sighed deeply, sliding an arm around her back and pulling her off the dresser and into his body, dropping his forehead against hers. His shoulders relaxed, though his arm remained an iron band at her back.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his other hand pushing her long hair back, revealing her red-rimmed eyes to his gaze. "I got carried away. This day…" He swallowed thickly. "It's been a lot."

He nuzzled his head against her. "Don't be angry, Hermione."

His words ghosted across her lips. They tasted sweet on her tongue. A mouthful of sugar that eroded her teeth, decayed the bone, ate away her insides like acid.

"I'm not angry."

He nodded, forehead still pressing hers as his fingers trailed across her scalp and cupped her nape, holding her head in place.

"They knew."

She jolted, his hard muscles absorbing the shock. She opened her mouth but no sound emitted. His eyes flickered down, staring at the soft pink expanse.

"They knew, Hermione."

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. She was coming apart at the seems, limbs falling loose, dropping to the carpet at his feet. Only his arm around her middle and hand at her neck kept her head attached to her torso.

"They didn't know, Tom."

He inhaled deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring, arm pressing harder against her fragile ribs, fingers clenching at the base of her skull.

"How can you be certain?"

She wet her lips, soul separating from her body.

"Because if they did, neither of us would be standing here."

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

They flew apart like similarly charged magnets. Tom backed into the windows, flattening the blinds in an attempt to steady himself. Hermione caught herself against the demolished dresser top, barely having time to glance down at her dress to make sure nothing was amiss before the door flew open and the owner of the worried voice came striding in.

"There you are-" her aunt stopped short, eyes landing on Tom hovering at the window like a dark sentinel. Her mouth pursed, throat clearing. "Hello, Tom. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to." She folded her hands before her, eyes narrowing. "I didn't realize you'd found Hermione. You told me you didn't know where she was."

His jaw flexed before his mask slid back into place, pristine and debonair as always. "I didn't. I decided to help you search. Figured I'd check upstairs while you looked outside."

Her nose twitched. "Well…" She gazed at Hermione, brow raising. "I hope I didn't interrupt."

Hermione's heart leaped into her throat as she held the woman's keen gaze.

"Of course not. We were just getting ready to head back downstairs," Tom supplied with easy precision.

Her aunt's eyes darted once more to him, face stern. "I am sorry about your loss, Tom. Thomas was a good man. He made my sister very happy."

Tom blinked, the statement obviously throwing him off guard, but he recovered in the next heartbeat, nodding politely. "I appreciate the kind words, Ms. Applegate."

Her expression pinched. She hated when Tom called her by her surname, and she knew Tom was well aware of that fact. Hermione watched the silent showdown with great trepidation. She couldn't handle the tension, her frayed nerves stretched to their limits.

"Aunt Mia."

The woman blinked, turning to Hermione with a surprised expression, as though she'd forgotten her niece was even in the room.

"Did you need me for something?"

Her aunt cleared her throat.

"Yes, dear. I wanted to tell you I've taken time off work so I can help get the house sorted. But if you'd be more comfortable staying at my place then-"

"I'd prefer to live here until it sells."

Her aunt's mouth closed. Somberness stole across her face, aging her rapidly. Amelia and Jean had different fathers and shared very few common features, much to Hermione's relief. She didn't think she could bear looking upon her mother's likeness, a mask worn by an imposter.

"I'd like to stay a while and help as well."

Amelia's back went rigid. She glanced over her shoulder. "What about Yale?"

"I can take a semester off without being penalized, extenuating circumstances and all that."

Her nose twitched once more. "I see." She took a deep breath. "We'll talk about it tomorrow after we've had time to process everything a bit more."

She held his gaze. "I'll be staying the night."

Tom smiled, teeth sharp and hungry. "That's very kind, Ms. Applegate. But unnecessary. I'll be home-"

"I'd like to be close to my niece during this time." The finality of her voice brokered no room for argument. "I'll be right down the hall."

Hermione's body throbbed. Her aunt and brother continued to stare at each other for a short eternity, neither one willing to glance away first, so she took matters into her own hands, stepping forward and gaining both their attention.

"That's great, Aunt Mia."

Tom's right eye twitched.

"Walk downstairs with me?" She prompted further, smiling at her aunt.

Amelia blinked, shoulders relaxing.

"Of course, dear."

She grabbed Hermione by the arm, the same spot Tom had held her pinned, and directed her towards the door. As they passed over the threshold Hermione glanced over her shoulder, sparing Tom a parting look.

His face was a placid lake.

But his eyes…

They spoke volumes across the empty expanse. The message was quite clear.

_We aren't finished, little sister._

.   .   .

Hermione lay in bed staring at the ceiling, surrounded by a pool of darkness that was split down the center by a beam of moonlight.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, not in an attempt to fall asleep, but in an effort to stay awake, sharp and cognizant of every passing noise and dancing shadow.

It was only a matter of time until he came for her.

Every successive moment she remained by herself was by his grace alone. Perhaps he did it to afford her the semblance of privacy, the illusion of solitude.

But he most likely did it to torture her. He knew the treacherous thoughts plaguing her. He'd implanted them himself, dug his thumb into the recesses of her psyche and placed the seed, covering it with soil and watered it steadily, watching it grow and spread through every crack and crevice with vicious glee.

His cruelty knew no end. She'd chased the horizon to the far reaches of time and space, only to end where she began. Back to his watchful eyes. His pointed teeth.

She rolled over to her side, facing the wall.

And then she heard it.

Footsteps down the hall.

He knew which floorboards creaked, knew which spots to avoid if he wanted to make a seamless entrance.

Tonight he was announcing his arrival.

It marked a huge turning point in the twisted game they played.

Their parents were gone.

There was no one to hide from.

She blinked, wondering at the fate of her aunt as her door slowly creaked open, the hinges screaming in protest as though they too were watching in judgment.

Light from the hallway cast across the wall in front of her, his silhouette carving through the center, stretching from floor to wall, a shadow demon.

He stepped over the threshold before coming to an eerie standstill. The only noise in the universe was her thudding heart, the blood rushing through her ears.

Until finally, he moved. The shadow extended out as he pushed the door closed, banishing the light, extinguishing the silhouette.

"I know you're awake."

She continued to lay with a death-like stillness.

"I wasn't pretending otherwise."

"Hm."

She heard the muffled sound of his bare feet crossing the carpet, the rustle of clothing. She held her breath as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, causing her slight form to tip back towards him. Cold air met her thighs as the cover was raised, his own legs sliding under.

And then an arm laced across her middle, elbow resting at her stomach as his sinewy forearm took position across her chest, between her breasts, his large hand resting atop both her own where they lay near her face. His fingers twined through hers, knuckles bumping, colliding. Her shallow breath fell atop their palms.

She closed her eyes as the arm drew her back, pressing her along his front. He'd removed his shirt. His chest pushed her forward with every deep breath, his heartbeat pulsing between her shoulder blades, reverberating through her limbs.

Her legs were curled up towards her middle, otherwise, she was certain he'd have entangled them as well, twisting his vines around every part of her he could grasp.

"You're freezing."

His lips grazed the shell of her ear.

"You're burning up."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling along her spine. The arm not strapped across her middle slid beneath her neck.

"You're wearing my shirt."

She opened her eyes.

"It wasn't intentional."

His fingers played idly with hers.

"Aunt Mia," she whispered, voice tense.

"Is passed out face first in bed for at least another eight hours."

Hermione's shoulders tensed. "What did you give her?"

He ignored the question, as she knew he would.

"I've missed you."

She watched the pad of his thumb trace lines over her dry cuticles. The silence swallowed them whole.

"Did you miss me?"

Her throat swelled with the toxic chemicals he emitted with each breath.

"Are you really doing this right now?"

He released a frustrated sigh against her neck. Her eyes narrowed in the dark.

"Our parents are _dead_ , Tom."

She listened to the uptake in his breathing, felt the quickened pace of his heart.

"My father was already dead to me."

She blinked as he went rigid as a board behind her.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Hermione didn't wait for him to elaborate. She did know what he meant, had seen the strained relationship between father and son play out each day for two years.

"He loved y-"

"Don't."

His arm flexed in warning. She fell silent.

But the tension was unbearable. Against her better judgment, Hermione lowered her arm and laid it atop his, gently scraping her nails across his inner wrist, following the lines in his palm.

The result was instantaneous.

His chest rumbled pleasurably before he rolled her onto her back, propping himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. The darkness hid most of his expression from view, but the moonlight fell across his eyes, casting them in a supernatural glow.

He leaned down, she felt his breath across her mouth. Just as the plush warmth of his lips met her own she turned her head away.

"Tom."

He went motionless, still poised above her.

"Not tonight," she whispered to the wall, tears burning behind her eyes. "They're watching us."

She heard his unamused laughter, it sounded spiteful, full of rage and hatred. It terrified her. Not because of what he might do, but because the sound echoed the feelings trapped within her own heart.

He finally slumped down, half his body pinning her flat, his face burying into the crook of her neck.

"Of course. They wait until death to pay us any mind."

She bristled at the words, and yet she knew they weren't said for her benefit, so she didn't respond.

His muscles finally loosened, relaxing, weighing her down into the sheets. His warmth seeped into her skin, caused her blood to sizzle and snap within her veins. She released a slow breath, emitting steam.

"Tom?"

She felt the bob of his Adam's apple against her shoulder.

"Hm?"

Hermione stared up at the ceiling once more, lost to the vast emptiness of it all.

"We're all alone now."

He shifted slightly.

"We'll never be alone, Hermione." His hand lowered, dipping beneath the hem of her shirt. His shirt. His warm palm rested atop her abdomen, making no move higher or lower, simply laying possessive claim to a body he long ago deemed his.

"We'll always have each other."

She blinked, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes and down the sides of her face, soaking into her hairline.

His words weren't meant to comfort or console. Tom didn't waste time on such things.

No, they were a simple truth. A statement of fact.

Hearing them aloud punctured her heart. She felt herself deflate slowly as the last of her life force drained away, pouring over the sides of the bed and pooling along the floor.

And come morning, Tom would step through the river of red without pause or issue, tracking it through the house before washing it away completely, watching idly as the last bits of her broken soul swirled down the drain.

* * *

**Saturday, June 6, 1998**

"Mione, he's here!"

Hermione blinked, turning around at the familiar sharp whisper.

"Who's here?"

Lavender laughed, rolling her eyes. "Who do you _think_ , genius?" She bounced giddily on her heels before leaping forward and grasping Hermione's wrist. "Victor!"

Hermione's mouth opened and closed as she was hoisted from the porch and into the backyard. The crowd had grown steadily over the past hour, many faces extending beyond the guest list, neighbors and acquaintances drawn in by the sound of laughter and music and the smell of barbeque.

Aunt Mia had spared no expense in throwing Hermione a graduation party to remember.

Still, Victor's presence certainly wasn't her aunt's doing, and Hermione knew it wasn't her _own_ doing so that only left…

"Lavender, _what_ did you do?" She twisted her arm in an attempt to extract herself from the girl's manicured clutches.

The blonde glanced over her shoulder, face bright with conspiratorial glee.

"I believe the words you meant to say were _thank you so much for being the most amazingly awesome best friend a girl could ever ask for, Lavender!_ "

Hermione scowled. "I haven't inhaled enough propane to sound that utterly stupid."

Her friend laughed, facing forward once more as she navigated them through the throngs of guests.

"If you _must_ know, I invited Oliver and told him to bring some friends. Who he chose to bring was totally up to him, and it just so happens that when he mentioned who the party was for Victor practically leaped in the car like a giant German shepherd."

Hermione raised a brow, still trying to tug herself free.

"Why a German shepherd?"

The blonde shrugged. "Because he has an accent."

"He's from Moscow."

"And?"

"Moscow's in an entirely different country! Why not go with a Russian terrier or spaniel-"

"Oh my god." Lavender stopped walking abruptly, nearly causing Hermione to topple into her. "Please don't talk about useless information when we're in front of the guys."

Hermione blinked. "Useless? You were the one who brought up dog br-"

"Seriously, Oliver and his friends are all Sophomores or older, please don't embarrass me."

Hermione flushed. "I didn't realize I did."

Lavender sighed, expression softening. "You're brilliant, Mione. I love when you prattle off random information. It's really interesting." She reached forward, playing idly with Hermione's curls. "But some people can find it a bit…"

Hermione glanced down. "Overbearing?"

"I was going to say annoying as fuck. But that works, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are you doing inviting Oliver anyway? Isn't he dating some girl that went to Beauxbatons?"

Lavender scoffed loudly at the mere mention of the private prep school. "His parents tried to set him up with some stick up the ass WASP, but he doesn't want that." She smiled, flipping her own hair back with obvious pride. "He asked me to go to Homecoming with him."

Hermione blinked. "They have Homecoming in college?"

_I thought I'd finally moved past such horrors._

"Of course they do! Well, his fraternity does anyway. Now come on!"

She grabbed Hermione's hand and recommenced dragging her across the yard.

"Lav, I really don't want to-"

"Victor is smoking hot, super smart, and totally interested in you. There's no reason why you shouldn't _want to_ , Hermione Granger."

Hermione swallowed thickly, pulse and dread rising in equal measure as the sound of distinctly male voices could be heard just beyond the vegetable garden. She made one last ditch effort to escape, but only succeeded in her tripping over her own feet and toppling sideways into a chip and dip table, dragging Lavender down with her.

The blonde screamed as though plummeting off a cliff's edge, taking the brunt of the fall while Hermione landed half on top of her, half in the grass. People stopped mid-conversation to rush to their sides.

"Oh my!" An elderly neighbor shuffled over. "Are you girls alright?"

Hermione pushed her hair from her face, pulling down the hem of her sundress as she rolled upright.

"Oh- um, yes, yes we're fine."

Mortified didn't begin to cover it.

She glanced sideways at Lavender, who scowled openly as she scraped onion dip from her blouse.

"I'm going to kill y-"

"Hermoninny?"

Hermione blinked, Lavender's threat fell on deaf ears as she glanced up, the glare of the sun blinding her. A broad figure stepped forward, Victor's face coming into view, the light radiating from behind his head like a halo.

Hermione blinked twice more before finding her voice.

"Hi."

She wanted to slap herself in the forehead.

His face was drawn with concern. "Are you okay? Lavender?"

The girl groaned, lifting a strand of salsa soaked blonde hair.

"Fuck."

Hermione cringed. "Let's go to the bathroom and-"

"No, no," Lavender held up her hands. "I can wash up on my own. You and Victor hang back." She shot Hermione a meaningful look. "And talk."

Hermione's jaw ticked as Lavender sprang to her feet, tipping precariously on her wedges. Victor reached out and helped steady her.

"Thanks, Vic." She smiled at him, then shot a wink to Hermione over her shoulder. "You kids have fun. I'll be right back."

Hermione was left gaping like a fish in her wake, forgetting she was still sprawled atop the remnants of the broken table until a large hand appeared before her.

"Please, let me help."

Hermione bit her lip, too embarrassed to meet his gaze as she placed her smaller hand in his, allowing him to haul her upright.

She quickly pulled her arm back, brushing away invisible debris from her dress for the excuse of busying herself with something.

Victor watched her with an amused gaze.

"Leave it to Lavender to create such a stir."

Hermione smirked, chancing a nervous glance up.

"It was actually my fault. I suspect she's plotting her revenge in the bathroom."

His smile was dazzling, transforming the hard lines of his face into something truly beautiful.

"You look very nice today."

She blushed, tucking a curl behind her ear, studying the grass at their feet.

"Oh. Thank you. So do you."

He chuckled. "How would you know? You've barely looked at me all day."

She looked up in surprise. His smirk was self-deprecating. "Of course I only noticed because I was staring at you." Now it was his turn to glance away, studying the same blade of grass. "I'm saying this wrong, making it sound, how you say? Creepy."

She laughed, the sound escaping her in a slightly shrill pitch, nerves still overtaxed in the wake of her tumble.

"No." She shook her head, stepping forward, gaining his hopeful gaze. "You aren't sounding creepy at all."

She bit her lip, flushing brightly when his eyes flickered down to track the movement.

Her chest swelled.

"I'm glad you came today. I meant to invite you myself but I've been so busy with everything I let my aunt handle the party planning and she's never met you so…" She cleared her throat to stem the flow of word vomit.

He smiled. "I understand. Graduation is a busy time." Someone walked behind him and he moved closer to allow them room to pass. "I heard you got accepted to Yale. That's incredible. Congratulations."

The blood drained from her face.

His expression fell, sensing something amiss.

"I'm sorry, did I-"

"No, I-" she shook her head, gesturing nervously with her hands. "You didn't, I did- I mean, yes, I was accepted into Yale." The blood came rushing back, turning her face a blistering red. "I just... " she inhaled deeply. "I'm just overwhelmed thinking about it. But thank you, I am very excited."

She prayed for the ground to open wide and swallow her whole.

But in true gentlemanly fashion, Victor took her harried excuses in stride, pressing her no further on the matter.

"I was nervous before starting Uni as well. Especially since it was my first time leaving Europe."

She was grateful for the lifeline, eagerly accepting the change in topic.

"That must have been terrifying, traveling so far from home. Did you come to America by yourself?"

He nodded. "Just me. And yes, it was rather scary but mostly thrilling. A real adventure."

She felt her chest loosen.

"But weren't you scared being on your own? If something bad happened when you first got here you wouldn't have had anyone to turn to."

He shrugged lightly, taking a half step closer yet. "That's what makes it an adventure."

She smiled. "I suppose it does."

They stared at each other for several beats before both glancing away with nervous laughter. Her hands flexed awkwardly at her sides.

"When Oliver told me about the party I was surprised."

She glanced up, anticipating his next words with bated breath.

"You don't seem like the party type." He sighed, shaking his head. "That came out wrong. I mean, when I've seen you at parties, you never seem to be having a good ti-," he stopped short, brows drawing in. "I made it sound even worse, didn't I? I don't mean to cause any offense-"

"It's okay." She glanced at their feet once more. "I know what you mean, and I don't take offense. I'm really _not_ the party type. I'm more of the stay at home and study until I fall asleep beneath a pile of books type."

"That isn't a bad thing. Look at where it's gotten you. Into the Ivy Leagues, while the rest of us barely scrape by at State."

She smiled, meeting his earnest gaze. "Don't be modest, I hear you're doing pretty well for your-" there was a shift in the air. A pressure differential, a vacuum effect that sucked up all the oxygen around her. "Self."

Her spine went rigid, gaze locked on Victor, unseeing.

He tilted his head. "Hermoninny?"

Victor's voice sounded muffled, underwater. She slowly released her breath, feeling her feet lift off the ground as she floated high above herself.

He was here. Somewhere. Watching.

"Hermoninny?" Victor's voice was louder, closer, his hand gently grasping her arm. "Are you alright?"

She swallowed thickly. "Y-yes." She took a step back, pulling free. "I just- I have to go."

He blinked. "Go?"

"I mean- I have to check on Lavender. See if she's okay."

The light faded from his eyes.

"Oh. Right. Of course."

She took another wide step back, chest rattling. "I'll talk to you later, Victor."

She was hardly aware of her words, barely registering his polite response, her sole focus was on getting as far away from the crowd as possible.

_It's in your head, he isn't here…_

She cut a quick path through the partygoers towards the back porch.

_You checked the schedule over a hundred times, he's still in Washington D.C._

She pulled open the sliding glass door with such force it shook the frame. A few people glanced over their shoulders, she paid them no mind.

_Talking to Victor overwhelmed me, threw me off, that's all..._

She took a gasping breath in the empty kitchen. But the moment she braced her hands against the counter voices emerged from the hall, laughing sharply.

Her aunt.

_I can't let her see me like this._

Hermione spun on her heel and sprinting into the living room, nearly colliding with a familiar body.

"Whoa! Mione! Where are you running off to?"

Adrenaline surged through her veins, making it difficult to stand still.

"Oliver." She wet her lips. "Have you seen Lav?"

He raised a brow. "I saw her take down a table out back. Fine work there."

Hermione smiled anxiously, hands fidgeting before her. "Right. Have you seen her since?"

He shook his head, holding out his solo cup. "You seem tense. Have a drink."

She peered over the rim, the smell of whiskey invading her nostrils, turning her stomach.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm heading out back, wanna come with? Vic's been looking for you since we arrived."

Hermione clutched the back of the couch, nails digging into the suede fabric.

"We talked."

Oliver smirked. "I see. Explains why you're running like Cujo's at your heels."

Hermione paled. "That's not-"

"I know he's a bit eager, but trust me, Vic's a good guy. Better than most. Sure of a hella lot better than me." He laughed, swaying a bit on his feet. "You should go out with him this summer before you head off to Yale."

_Yale Yale Yale Yale Yale…_

She swallowed thickly, vision hazing at the edges.

"Right. I need to find Lavender."

Oliver drew back, mouth tipping down at the corners. "Just think about it, Mione. You won't always have Lav to hide behind. You can't make it on your own out there. You gotta have friends."

Her heart lurched in her chest.

He burped into his fist. "Fuck. Think I'm getting drunk." He chuckled. "Strong stuff. Probably should switch to Coke."

She nodded. "Probably." Her voice was barely a whisper, his words taking root deep within her chest and strangling her vocal chords.

Oliver peered into his cup and backed away slowly, seeming to forget she was even there to begin with. Hermione lingered with her weight slumped against the back of the couch for several more heartbeats, the crowd of people around her paying her no mind.

_"No one's watching us," a ghost whispered in her ear. "No one ever watches us."_

She blinked rapidly, dashing for the stairs, galloping up so quickly her sandal fell off. She groaned, removing the other shoe and tossing it down the hall in frustration. She stopped before the closed bathroom door.

"Lavender?"

Silence greeted her.

She knocked loudly, in time to her racing heart.

"Lavender?"

More silence.

Hermione slowly turned the knob. "Hello?"

She opened the door, revealing a perfectly empty bathroom.

"Dammit."

She peered over her shoulder, the hallway equally void of life.

Hermione started to pull the door closed, intent on resuming the search for her dip splattered friend, when the sunlight streaming in through the window gleamed off the tub faucet, catching her eye.

She hesitated, biting her lip, pulse still thrumming madly.

_Don't even think about it! You have an entire party devoted to you downstairs…_

And yet before she even finished thinking the statement she was stepping into the tiny room, pressing the door shut and pushing in the lock with her thumb.

_Just a few minutes reprieve, then I'll head back down, bright eyed and bushy tailed._

_Speaking of bushy…_

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers through the tangles and snarls in her curls. Her hair had been smooth and sleek when the day started, but the humidity had undone hours of hard work in a matter of minutes. She glared at the rebellious strands, turning away to face the tub, already feeling the tension lift from her muscles.

She had no intention of taking a bath.

Her greatest pleasure was derived from simply sitting within the empty basin itself, feeling the cool porcelain against her skin, the muffled echo of sound as she submerged into the white depths. It was like sinking into quicksand, limbs going lax as an invisible weight took her under.

Hermione stretched her legs out before her as she leaned back, arms resting atop the wide lip.

She tipped her head back, the sounds of the party occurring one floor beneath her slowly fading away. She was sequestered on a desert island, alone at long last. Finally free of the demons at her back, nipping her heels.

She forgot about her earlier panic, her over-reaction to everyday social anxiety. She'd imagined the eyes upon her. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Her lids felt heavy, the long stretch of silence lulling her to sleep. Her eyes finally closed, darkness surrounding her.

A knock sounded at the door. Hermione's eyes snapped open, body jolting, elbow colliding hard with the side of the tub.

"Ow! Shit!" she hissed, cradling the bruised joint.

The knock sounded again, heavier this time.

Hermione blinked rapidly, glancing around. She felt like she'd lost time.

_Did I fall asleep? Crap._

She quickly scrambled out of the tub, steadying herself against the sink, gazing at her pale reflexion in the mirror. She looked like a ghost.

_Am I real?_

_Is any of this real?_

She shook her head, pushing the strange thoughts aside as she crossed to the door. She cleared her throat, trying to awaken her sluggish vocal chords.

"Sorry, coming!"

She twisted the knob, the lock popping out against her palm. She pulled the door open, apologetic smile firmly affixed to her face.

"It's all yours-"

She fell silent, heart stuttering.

"What's all mine?"

She shook her head, stepping back on numb legs.

_No._

_This isn't real._

Tom pushed the door open further, stepping inside, promptly closing it behind him.

He smiled, his face just as it appeared in her dreams each night.

Haunting. Beautiful. Malevolent.

And then he pushed in the lock, the noise causing a shockwave blast that crushed her lungs and broke her bones.

She eyed the door wearily, rocking back on her heels, an animal trapped between fight or flight.

He saved her from having to choose.

He surged towards her, catching her wrists as she braced her hands against his chest, attempting to keep the beast at bay, using his sure grip to twirl her- for a heart-stopping moment she was thirteen years old again, dressed in a gown too mature for her slight frame, spinning around a dance floor with a laughing bride- and then she was pushed forward, hips crashing into the vanity.

She gasped in shock, the pain hit her a moment later. His hands released her wrists, pressing flat against the marble counter on either side of her body, caging her in.

His chest pressed along her back, broader, more muscular than she remembered. His arms felt miles longer as well, his spine stretching to eternity past her shoulder. She struggled to breathe, gazing down at the empty sink, hair falling forward and curtaining her face, offering her a brief reprieve from his reflection.

But she felt his eyes burning a trail along her skin everywhere they roamed.

He leaned in, pressing harder against her, causing her to inhale sharply as the counter cut into her pelvis. The heat at her back was even more painful. She was burning alive, nerve endings melting away.

"Happy graduation, Hermione."

He lifted a hand to pull back the curtain of her hair on one side, exposing her flushed cheek to his scorching gaze. He wound the long locks around his fingers like twine, tipping her head back, baring the long column of her throat.

With the new position, her eyes were forced upward, unable to hide any longer. She met his stare dead on, chest heaving as she struggled to find her breath. His other arm looped around her middle, drawing her back from the counter, holding her flush to his body, suspended on bare tiptoes. His head dipped down, lips grazing her ear as he held her gaze, a shadow passing across his face as a cloud moved over the sun.

"Quite the party you're having. Imagine my surprise." He tugged her hair for emphasis, her head tipping back further, scalp aching. "Not being invited and all."

She swallowed, the motion getting caught in her throat, some obstruction cutting off her airway.

"I didn't want a party-"

"Ssh." He nuzzled her neck, his arm flexing around her hips, causing her to squirm. "No more lies."

"I'm not-"

"Hermione."

The deep rumble of his voice was more sinister than the words themselves. Tears blurred her vision.

"Aunt Mia planned it all. I didn't want a party. She insisted."

He opened his mouth against her shoulder, teeth dragging along the exposed skin, pulling the strap of her sundress down her pale flesh.

"I can almost believe that. Meddlesome bitch that she is." His eyes flickered up, catching her gaze in the mirror. "Still doesn't explain why I wasn't invited."

Her toes were cramping against the hard tiles as she struggled to support the remainder of her weight upon them.

"You were in Washington-"

"Clearly I'm not."

"I thought you were!"

"Is that why you had it today? To keep me from coming?"

Tears finally tipped over the rim of her lower lids, cutting dark tracks down her face, laced with mascara.

"When have I ever been able to keep you from anything you wanted?"

His jaw tensed, eyes flashing, hunger clear in their depths.

"I hate it when you lie to me."

She inhaled slowly, finally forcing air into her tightly drawn lungs.

"Welcome to my world."

He held her gaze for several more beats. Then his hand released her hair, slowly unwinding, blood rushing back into her scalp, causing it to tingle. She wiped her eyes, smearing her makeup, the feel of his heartbeat pounding into her back as he kept her pinned against him.

"I came to visit you before summer started. I'll be gone until the semester begins."

Her heart lurched, hands lowering to grip the forearm cast across her.

"Where are you going?"

"Europe. We're meeting with investors."

She swallowed. "D.C. was a success then?"

"Hm." He lifted his free hand to play idly with her hair, eyes drifting to focus on the shimmering caramel locks.

"Th-that's great, Tom."

She bit her lip, cursing herself for the tremor in her voice. Sure enough, she caught his attention once more, in the worst way possible. Her fear awoke the lounging beast, his arm tightening around her, her hips feeling as though they would crack down the center. She bit her tongue, fighting against the pain.

"Are you looking forward to starting Yale, Hermione?"

She fought to keep her voice steady this time, keep her limbs still, body complaint.

"Of course."

He watched her reflection with an eerie stillness only seen in predators before the kill.

"Soon you'll see me every day. Just like old times."

Her lips quivered. "You'll be too busy with classes and your new startup to pay any attention to a freshman."

"I'm never too busy for you, little sister."

She couldn't fight back the shiver the words induced. His pupils dilated rapidly, swallowing the grey. They gleamed black and sinister, teeth sharpened to points as they sank into her shoulder, dimpling the skin.

Her breath came in short pants, eyes watching the motion of his mouth as he slowly devoured her alive. Warmth pooled in her center, spreading outward in tendrils of lapping heat.

She was liquid melting into him, head tipping back and eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as he tore into her flesh, his arm pulling her upright and taught on her toes as his other hand splayed over her thigh, skimming up, up, up, dragging the bottom hem of her sundress, talon-tipped fingers prickling at the thin cotton of her underwear.

"This fall, you're mine."

She swallowed thickly, the English language an abstract concept as the roughed pads of his fingertips pushed the dampened fabric aside and slid along her most intimate folds. She keened, arching back and pressing harder against him, the muscles in her neck straining as her head lolled on his shoulder.

"You've always been mine."

His words unleashed something wild within her, clawing at the surface of her skin, desperate to tear free.

Fingers slipped inside her tight entrance, her body clenched, gripping him hard, drawing a low moan from his throat. Liquid heat cascaded down her thighs in a brilliant show of shimmering sparks, a volcanic eruption.

"Say it, Hermione." He pressed into her walls, curled his knuckles against the hidden bundle of nerves nestled behind her pelvic bone, rendering her mindless as her knees gave out, only his arm keeping her upright.

"Say it."

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming rivers down her face.

"I'm yours."

He snarled like a ravaging wolf before rewarding her with a searing open mouth kiss, tongue invading her mouth and mimicking the motion of his fingers.

As light exploded behind her lids and her body disintegrated to ash her mind constructed one last cognizant thought. She whispered it against his lips with the awe and reverence of a dying woman about to meet her maker.

"I'm a monster."

He slowly withdrew his hand, trailing secretions along her inner thigh. She watched with sated detachment as he sucked each glistening finger clean, tongue slow and meticulous, savoring the taste.

He held her gaze, whispering soothingly into her ear.

"That's what I love most about you, little sister."

* * *

**Sunday, August 23, 1998**

The door crashed open.

It banged off the entryway table, knocking a photo frame to the floor, the glass cracking across the likeness of Hermione's smiling face.

The wind howled through the hallway, the storm in full force, an angry tempest raging through the cul de sac, masking the sound of Amelia's shrill scream.

She ran for the kitchen, hands out, desperately grasping at the open air, as though some weapon would materialize within her reach if she only imagined hard enough.

He caught her halfway through the dining room, grabbing her arm and spinning her around, slamming her up against the wall, his face a chilling mask void of emotion, eyes flat and black, narrowing on her dangerously.

"Tom!" She gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Let me go this inst-"

"Where is she?"

His voice was edged in steel, making her mouth clamp shut on instinct. The hand at her bicep squeezed painfully, the other wrapping around her throat, not exerting any pressure, not yet.

"Where is she, Amelia?"

"She- she's at school-"

"No. She isn't."

Amelia blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes.

"I don't understand-"

"She was supposed to arrive five days ago. She never did. I checked her supposed dorm, the R.A. has never heard of a Hermione Granger. So I checked with a friend at the registrar's office, and imagine my surprise when I find out Hermione never even applied to Yale."

Amelia paled. "W-what?"

Now the fingers at her throat squeezed. Her eyes bugged. "I didn't know!"

His jaw ticked, lightning flashing in his gaze, mirroring the raging chaos outside.

"You're lying. You helped her construct the bullshit story-"

"Tom! I didn't know! She told me she got accepted to Yale! She showed me the let-" She coughed and gasped for air as her airway was cut off. She clawed at the metal claw around her neck, thrashing uselessly.

He loosened his grip a fraction, just enough to allow her to suck in a single greedy breath. Then he started to choke her anew.

"If you didn't know she was lying then why don't you look surprised to see me?"

The veins in her forehead bulged, her face stricken. "She- she warned me that you'd be coming-" her voice was strained, pleading. "She said to beware the monster, that it would be coming for me."

Tom blinked. "She said what?"

Amelia's eyes started to roll back in her head. Tom growled, releasing her entirely, watching in disgust as her frail body collapsed in a heap to the floor, heaving with each wheezing breath.

"Fucking pathetic."

He stepped away, running his hands through his hair. "No fucking clue where your own goddamn niece is." He was talking to himself, pacing the dining room with every muscle tensed, alert. "She thinks she's so fucking clever. Thinks she's gotten away." He laughed without humor, the sound causing Amelia to rear back, shuddering against the wall. "She has no fucking idea what she's done."

"Tom…" Amelia cringed, rubbing at her purple marred throat, expression caught between terror and plea. "Please… leave her alone. She's been through enough-"

" _She's_ been through enough?" He exploded, grabbing a chair and throwing it full force at the wall, relishing the explosion of wood fragments. Amelia shrieked, cowering back further. He chuckled darkly, eyes wild. "You really are fucking clueless aren't you? No idea what the hell is going on right under your nose."

She blinked slowly, peering up with hesitation and obvious confusion. But she wisely kept her lips pressed thin. Tom reared back, inhaling sharply, sweeping his fallen hair away from his eyes.

"I'm the only one who can protect her. She needs me. And if you truly cared about her you'd help me find her." He scowled. "But you won't. Because you're useless. As useless as they were." He shook his head. "You'd only slow me down anyway."

Her eyes widened, a haunted look passing over her pale face. "W-what are you going to do?"

His shoulders drew back, spine straightening, posture impeccable.

"I'm not going to kill you."

She visibly deflated with relief.

"I need you alive."

She drew back slightly. "For what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Bait, obviously. How are you still not getting this?"

Amelia folded her arms protectively across her chest. "I'm not going to help you lure her back here. Wherever she is, she's better off-"

She stopped abruptly as Tom lowered to his haunches directly in front of her. He moved with a graceful ease that seemed grotesquely out of place beside the destroyed chair and violent storm at his back.

"Oh, Amelia. You really _don't_ get it, do you?" His deep voice dripped with acidic sympathy that corroded her skin. He reached out a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, only for it to fall loose again as she averted her face in obvious disgust.

"I won't have to lure Hermione back." He smirked, eyes dancing with sinister pleasure. "She'll be headed home soon enough, whether she wants to or not. She can't fight it once it starts."

Amelia blinked, body trembling with a knowledge her mind was slow to manifest.

"F-fight what?"

He tipped his head, eyes roaming her face. "The hunger."

Lightning split the sky and illuminated the bay window at his back, casting his handsome features with unearthly luminescence, a dark angel fallen from the warring heavens.

His smile turned feral at the dawning realization in her eyes. At the fear.

"I think you're finally starting to get it now."

Thunder chased the lightning, a deafening boom that shook the foundation of the home.

"I'm not the monster she warned you about."


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline jumps forward and back between each break. 1998 is the current year for quick reference.

**peccatophilia (n.)** a love for sinning

Part Two  
The Quickening

**Monday, August 24, 1998**

Tom turned the phone over in his hands from his prone position on the bed.

He gazed unseeing at the ceiling, running his fingertip over the smooth screen, tracing the plastic buttons with his thumbnail.

He'd bought a matching device for Hermione as a graduation present. A means with which they could communicate without her aunt breathing down their necks, making underhanded remarks about how they spent altogether too much time talking to each other.

After raiding her room upon his return he was relieved to see she'd taken it with her.

If only she'd respond to his messages.

His jaw flexed.

It was all the same.

_You can run, little sister._

_But you can't hide._

His eyes narrowed.

_Not for long._

He turned to his side, sinking his face into the rumpled sheets, inhaling deeply.

They smelled like her skin.

He closed his eyes, losing himself to memories.

He ignored the chaotic thumping from the bedroom next door.

The muffled sobbing that followed was merely white noise.

* * *

**Thursday, March 11, 1993**

"Alright, who can tell me how to determine the frog's gender externally?"

Hermione's arm shot up in the air so fast she nearly smacked Lavender in the head.

The teacher sighed, glancing around the room at the other students laughing around their lab trays.

"Anyone _else_?"

Hermione flushed as Marietta snickered meanly from the table behind them.

"Alright, go ahead, Hermione."

Hermione lowered her arm, keeping her chin high despite the low laughter at her back. "You can determine gender by looking at the digits on its forelegs. A male frog has thicker pads than the female, also the male is usually smaller in size overall."

The teacher nodded. "Very good. Did anyone else bother to do the reading?"

"Why are we looking at its legs? I thought we were cutting these things open!" Dean called from the back of the classroom where he and Seamus held their scalpels with malevolent glee.

Ms. Sprout rolled her eyes. "The term is _dissecting_ , Mr. Thomas. And you will take turns making incisions. I will come around to each table to make sure no one gets overzealous with their tools. We only have enough frogs for each pair to get one shot at this. So take your time, read your instructions, and take notes. This _will_ be on the quiz next week."

A few groans sounded across the room but for the most part, the students were all highly engaged, more so than usual, the prospect of slicing into amphibian cadavers an exciting deviation from the norm.

Hermione glanced over at Lavender.

"Are you read-" she blinked, tilting her head. "Lav? Are you okay? You look paler than the frog and he's been soaking in chemicals for-"

"I get it!" Lavender cringed, averting her eyes from the tray. "This is disgusting. Why do we have to cut into them? The book has a perfectly usable diagram."

Hermione shrugged, reaching for the latex gloves.

"It's not so bad. Some schools dissect fetal pigs."

" _What_?"

Hermione smirked. "Feeling better about this frog now, aren't you?"

"It smells rank." Her friend pressed a hand to her mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

"Don't you dare! You heard Sprout, we only get the one frog-"

"I'm touched you're so concerned about my well being."

Hermione sighed. "I'll do the cutting. When Sprout comes round just lean in and act like you're paying attention so you get participation points."

Lavender's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you, Mione."

Hermione nodded, her focus once more lowering to the tiny body pinned belly up in their metal tray. She glanced to the textbook lying beside it, scanning over the instructions yet again despite the fact she'd spent all night memorizing each step.

She picked up the scalpel and forceps, hands steady.

She took a deep breath as she pressed the sharp blade just above the legs, creating horizontal incisions. She repeated the cuts below the arms, the chemical smell of the frogs and tools burning her nostrils and the back of her throat.

Her pupils dilated as the blade sliced through the pale hide effortlessly. She sliced the muscle away from the skin before folding the flaps back like petals, pinning then away from the central body.

She picked up her blade and repeated the same incisions with pristine accuracy, this time cutting through the muscle layer, using her forceps to lift the tissue away from the organs.

Next, Hermione grabbed her scissors and cut through the rigid sternum, heart leaping with pleasure when she heard it crack cleanly beneath her tool. She repeated the horizontal cuts and then carefully removed the bone fragments from the center. She peeled the muscle layer back, her rose ever blooming.

She set her tools aside and gazed down at her handy work.

Breathtaking.

The yellow, finger-like fat deposits gleamed beneath the overhead lights. She tilted her head. Their specimen was female, fully developed eggs blocking the view of her organs.

Hermione took up her scalpel once more and carefully cut the obstructions away. As she dropped the eggs into the tray she heard Lavender gag beside her, drawing her out her reverie.

"How can you do that without cringing?"

"It's anatomy," Hermione said, a bit breathless. She wet her lips. "There's nothing more natural than researching the way living things work."

"There's nothing more natural than cutting things open and pulling out their insides?"

Hermione glanced away, pretending to read the book instructions once more.

She heard footsteps approach from behind.

"Ms. Granger. How is it coming along?"

Hermione smiled. "I was just starting to catalog the organs."

Ms. Sprout raised a brow, peering down at her tray.

"You already have the body cavity open?" She tilted her head. "Very clean cuts. Great job, Hermione." She glanced up at the blonde lingering beside the table with a green complexion.

"If you want to pretend to contribute you should at least put gloves on, Ms. Brown."

Lavender looked too sick to be properly embarrassed. "The smell is making me gag, Ms. Sprout. I don't think I can take much more of it."

The teacher sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Take the pass off my desk and go to the nurse's office for the rest of the period." She narrowed her gaze. "If I find out you went anywhere else I'll have you in detention every day for a week, understand?"

Lavender nodded eagerly. "Thank you so much!" She shot an apologetic look to Hermione. "Er… sorry, Mione." She flashed a quick smile as she gathered her books and bag. "But face it, you prefer doing this kind of work alone anyway."

Hermione drew back. She knew Lavender didn't mean any harm by the statement, but it unnerved her nonetheless. Her friend didn't seem to notice her reaction, already halfway to the door.

"The pass, Lavender!" Ms. Sprout groaned, shaking her head and chasing after the girl.

Hermione blinked in their wake, standing alone at her table, scalpel in one hand, forceps in the other. She peered down at her meager kill.

She drew back sharply, dropping the blade. It clattered loudly to the floor.

"Good job, Granger!" Seamus cheered, causing a few others to hoot and clap.

She rolled her eyes, picking up the tool and slamming it on the table, chest quaking.

_Don't… not now…_

_Not again._

She briefly closed her eyes.

The voice whispered to her.

Called to her.

Beckoned her.

She trembled with the force of keeping her breath steady.

_Ignore it._

_It will go away. It always does._

A few more seconds passed with excruciating slowness. She opened her eyes.

The frog lay before her. A pale and pathetic science experiment. A piece of homework.

Nothing more.

She continued on with her work with hard-set eyes.

By the time the bell rang, she was crawling out of her skin.

.   .   .

Hermione walked home after school most days. Once in a blue moon, her mother would pick her up, but ever since she started dating Thomas she changed her shift at the store to have more time in the evenings to spend with him.

Hermione didn't mind the change in schedule. She didn't mind that her mother altered her work to accommodate this man that had just entered their lives. She didn't mind that she spent less and less time with Hermione in order to spend more and more time with him.

She really didn't.

Because Hermione enjoyed her solitude. And she enjoyed walking home.

She did. Really.

It gave her time to think, time to reflect on her day.

Hermione loved to analyze things to a bloody pulp.

But on this particular day, she really wished her mother had been waiting in the pickup lane after the final bell.

Because today all Hermione could think about was the stupid fucking frog. She couldn't eradicate the sight from her mind. The sensation of slicing open its skin, of cracking through its breastbone.

She felt dirty. Vile. Depraved.

And such feelings made the walk home endlessly long. She prayed for lightning to strike her from the clear skies, for a sinkhole to open up beneath her and end this misery.

Alas, when neither event occurred, Hermione instead found herself wandering towards the woods that bordered the park near her home.

_Don't do this, Hermione. Not again._

And yet her feet veered off the walking path into the thick foliage.

Her entire body trembled. She slumped against a tree, breathing deeply.

_Go home. Just go home._

She heard the sound of twigs snapping behind her back. She glanced over her shoulder and caught a flash of movement.

She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes.

"Hello?"

Silence greeted her. But she had the distinct feeling of being watched.

By something more dangerous than herself.

She was grateful for the mysterious predator at her back. For the fear it implanted within her sent her running for the path, heading straight for home.

And saved her from herself. At least for one more day.

* * *

**Tuesday, August 25, 1998**

Dark smoke filled the violet sky above.

The truck burned steadily at the bottom of the ravine. A raging bonfire of twisted metal.

Hermione watched the blaze from her perch atop the embankment, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting atop.

Her eyes drifted over the melted structure, the blackened license plate curling in on itself.

She wondered if this was what Thomas's car looked like after it struck the telephone pole. Mangled and concave. A toy missile smashing against a child's fist.

The smell of charred meat hit her nostrils, turning her stomach. Hermione swallowed thickly, averting her face away. Her gaze landed on the leather wallet lying beside her on the cement ledge. She picked it up tentatively, holding it between her fingers like a dirty tissue. One side was still covered in glistening red.

She opened it carefully, the well-worn crease offering no resistance to her touch, and studied the contents.

His driver's license was behind a yellowed plastic cover. She squinted to read the name in the fading evening light.

Greyback.

She tilted her head, studying the photo beside it. He somehow looked even more unkempt on the card than he did in real life. And that was really saying something. She had smelled the menthols and whiskey emanating from the bed of his truck before she even opened the passenger door.

Hermione sighed, moving past the ID to study the other items within. She opened the billfold, raising a brow at the stack of large bills inside. That was surprising. They appeared crisp, fresh from the ATM.

_I know he wasn't expecting to pay me for sex. What the hell did he need all this for?_

She shrugged, folding the pile in half and sliding it into the back pocket of her jean shorts.

Suppose she'd never know now.

She thumbed through stained and faded business and membership cards, pausing when a side compartment revealed the edge of a glossy photograph.

She blinked, sliding the folded bit of paper free with careful precision.

The image depicted a young woman, still a teenager, sitting on a tire swing, leaned back with her long blonde hair flowing behind her. She was in a thin white summer dress, rendered see-through by the bright sun above.

Her face was passive. Resigned.

Pale eyes haunted.

Hermione stared at the photo for a long time. Until her peripheral vision started to blur. Until the girl in the image transformed.

Hermione was seated on the rubber swing, clutching tightly to the rope above, staring into a camera lens with a mannequin's vacancy.

The sound of a distant car driving down the gravel road drew her attention. She quickly scrambled to replace the photo, but only succeeded in smearing the image with blood.

She sighed, wiping it against the ground. Despite the glossy surface, the crimson-soaked into the paper and marred the wayward girl's face, drowning her in it. Hermione stared at the image for several more moments before setting her jaw, tossing the wallet down into the blazing fire below.

Hermione held the image in her hand for another stuttered heartbeat before releasing it, watching it float down down down into the flames.

She turned away, running back into the treeline, disappearing into the wild from whence she came.

She didn't notice the gust of wind that blew in from the east, catching the falling photograph moments before it succumbed to the fire, blowing it to the safety of the pavement.

The white backing faced the sky, covered in Hermione's bloody fingerprints.

* * *

**Sunday, April 25, 1993**

"Oh stop it, I did _not_ sound like that!"

"You did, darling. But don't worry, I'm sure no one else noticed." Thomas winked over the rim of his wine glass. Jean laughed uncontrollably into her napkin, face turning red.

Hermione watched their exchange from her side of the table, hands twisting on her lap.

_Please kill me._

She couldn't bear to watch her mother interact with him like they were the only two people in the room.

Like Hermione didn't exist.

The way her mother's voice lilted at the ends like a tickled school girl… it was the stuff of nightmares.

To her immense relief, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the dining room, followed by quick footsteps towards the stairs.

Thomas's relaxed posture flipped like a switch. His broad shoulders drew back, spine straightening, face pinching in supreme annoyance.

"Tom! Get your ass in here!"

His voice shook the table and rattled the flatware.

A few moments later the familiar sight of Tom emerged through the doorway, book bag slung over his shoulder, dark brow raised over a spectacularly blackened eye. His expression held no hint of derision or discomfort.

"Just my ass, or would you like to see the rest of me as well?"

Jean threw her napkin down, scooting back her chair with a gasp.

"Tom! What happened to your face?"

She stood up, crossing the room quickly. Tom drew back sharply, averting his head from her reaching hands.

"I fell into the corner of a table at school. Nothing to worry about."

Thomas's eyes narrowed. "Did you also punch the table in retaliation?"

Hermione's eyes flickered down, settling on his hands. The knuckles were discolored and swollen, the skin broken, shiny raw flesh peeking through.

She tilted her head, fixated upon the sight. She wondered how difficult it would be cutting the skin away from the muscle on a human being as opposed to a frog.

The hand in question flexed, breaking her daze. Her eyes lifted, heart jolting as She met Tom's stare. He watched her with a steady focus over her mother's shoulder. Whatever their parents were saying faded to the background, a distant hum of noise.

Tom always managed to have this effect on her. Casting out every other presence in the room.

_Like lovers. Like death._

She swallowed as the strange notion took root in her mind. She felt vines lifting from the carpet and wrapping around her ankles, twisting up her bare calves-

"Hermione, will you run to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit?"

Hermione blinked. Her mother and Thomas reappeared. Tom was no longer staring at her.

"There's no need, Jean." Tom walked around the concerned woman, dropping his bag to the floor by the antique china cabinet. "There's nothing to do for bruises. I'll be fine."

He pulled out a chair at the only unoccupied side of the table, between his father and Hermione. As he sat he dragged his chair half a foot away from the former, putting him closer to her by default.

She blinked, staring ahead at her half-empty plate.

"You're late. Again." Thomas's fists rested on the table. "If I get another call from the principal telling me you've been in a fight-"

"I assure you, the table won't tell a soul. It knows what happened to the cabinet corner that narced."

Hermione bit her lip, a sudden hysterical giggle bubbling up inside her. She fought it back with every ounce of strength. Thomas didn't look the least bit amused.

"You're the only idiot I know that gets straight A's," the man continued, focusing the entirety of his anger upon the boy who looked like a younger version of himself. "You're going to ruin your chances at college all because you can't keep that temper in check."

Tom averted his gaze, jaw set. "I wonder where I picked up that trait?"

Jean glanced away, smoothing her hands over the tablecloth in obvious discomfort. Hermione picked at her cuticles until they bled.

There had never been fighting in the house until her mother's boyfriend moved in with his son.

It was like a toxic gas she was forced to breathe in little by little, slowly poisoning her bloodstream.

"Watch it, boy," Thomas's eyes gleamed menacingly, body wound tight, ready to spring. "I did _not_ spend the last ten years raising a smart-mouthed delinquent."

Hermione blinked.

Ten years?

_Who raised him the first six? Didn't his mom die in childbirth?_

Tom went rigid in his chair. "I think the argument can be made you didn't spend the last ten years raising anyone."

Jean closed her eyes, shaking her head. Hermione braced herself for impact.

Tom watched his father seethe from across the table with hard-set eyes, the challenge clear.

But to everyone's immense surprise, Thomas didn't leap across the plates and glasses. Instead, he leaned back further in his chair, fists clenched tightly.

"Go to your room."

Tom shot out of his chair as though it were spring loaded. "Gladly."

He reached for his bag, one hand gripping the back of Hermione's chair as he leaned over. She held her breath until he released his hold, disappearing from the room in the same puff of black smoke he entered with.

Thomas sighed deeply. "Apologies. I don't know what to do with that boy sometimes."

Jean placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's a teenager, sweetheart. A boy no less. It's just a phase. I'm sure you went through one at his age."

"Stop making excuses for him, Jean. You raise children by being their parent, not their friend."

Jean drew her hand away. "I know that, Thomas. I've been raising my daughter on my own her entire life."

Hermione glanced down at her place setting once more. Her eyes focused upon the steak knife, gleaming beneath the lights. She heard Thomas shift in his seat.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I didn't mean to-" he groaned. "He just winds me up. He does it on purpose, I swear." A pause. "I just wish he could be more like Hermione."

Hermione glanced up from the blade in surprise.

Thomas held her gaze across the table.

"You're a great girl, Hermione. A model student, respectful to your mother, polite and kind." She squeezed her fists on her lap. Coming from him the compliments were a deep affront. "I hope in time you'll be able to rub off on Tom."

She felt a deep flush rush up her neck and spread to her cheeks.

Jean laughed. "Thomas, we're doing it out of order."

Hermione blinked, glancing at her mother in confusion. Thomas smiled. "I know, I'm terrible at these things. You tell her."

Her heart seized in her chest, body going numb. She felt her soul separate from her body at her mother's tittering giggle.

"But Tom-"

"I'll tell him later tonight. It's his own fault for coming in late and causing a scene."

"Maybe we should wait-"

"Tell me."

They both glanced at Hermione, seeming to remember she was sitting there. Her mother leaned towards her, extending her hands across the table, beckoning Hermione to do the same.

Her fingers trembled as they were encased within her mother's warm grasp.

"Hermione, as you know Thomas and I have been getting rather serious, what with moving our families in together and all..." she bit her lip nervously, holding Hermione's gaze. "Last night Thomas proposed. I said yes."

The silence that followed was deafening. A vacuum sucked all the air and light from the room, starving her brain of oxygen, blinding her. She swayed in her chair.

"That's wonderful."

Thomas clapped his hands together boisterously and smiled. Her mother looked less convinced.

"Hermione, maybe we should talk in private?"

Hermione drew her hand back. "No, sorry, I was just taken off guard." She shook her head, forcing a smile. "I'm so happy for you guys. That's great news."

Her mother tipped her head, smiling unsurely, clearly detecting something amiss in her daughter's reaction. But Thomas's voice overpowered them both.

"I told you she'd be excited, Jean! Let's celebrate with some ice cream."

Hermione's stomach twisted painfully.

"Actually, I have a lot of homework to get to." She kept her smile in place, her face feeling as though it would split in half. "But I'll take a raincheck."

Jean started to stand. "Sweetheart, are you sure-"

"Yes, mom." Hermione leaned forward, kissing her cheek. "I promise, I'm so happy about this news. Let's celebrate next weekend."

"Great idea," Thomas said, reaching for his wine glass. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Hermione nodded in his direction. "Goodnight."

She walked calmly from the room, kept her pace steady up the stairs, walked slowly down the hallway, and then collapsed on the floor of her bedroom.

She curled up in a tight ball leaning against the foot of her bed, staring at the wall with tears in her eyes.

_Everything is falling apart._

Hermione wasn't sure how long she wallowed in the pool of misery before her door opened. She wiped at her eyes, expecting to see her mother.

The blood drained from her face as Tom stepped casually inside, inspecting the space as though he were entitled to come explore anytime he wanted.

"You didn't knock."

He brought his gaze to her, the darkened skin around his left eye making his grey irises appear even lighter.

"That is a fact."

She swallowed heavily, pressing against the boxspring. "You can't just barge into my room."

"I didn't barge. I walked in quite calmly."

She huffed in annoyance, starting to push herself up from the ground. He pinned her with an intense look.

"Stay down."

Hermione blinked, heart leaping into her throat.

She sank back to the carpet.

Tom averted his gaze to her dresser, strolling towards it with his hands in his pockets. He tilted his head, inspecting the various photographs and cards pinned to the mirror frame.

"I couldn't help but overhear the joyous news."

She went rigid.

"Your father said he plans on telling you himself."

"I'll be sure to act surprised."

His voice was flat, detached. She bit her lip.

"How do you feel about it?"

He reached out a hand, tracing a fingertip along a photograph of Hermione laughing with her mother at the zoo. He touched her cheek in the image. She felt the ghost sensation across her face in real life, sending a shiver of unease down her spine.

"I think they're perfect for each other."

Hermione reared back.

"You're being sarcastic, right?"

He smirked, lowering his arm, eyes still locked on the photo.

"You disagree?"

She deflated, knees drawing up. She'd expected Tom to be on her side. She felt wracked by shame and guilt for being the only one to view the new development in a negative light.

He slowly stepped away from the dresser, standing beside her, gazing down.

"They both want to be somebody else. When they're together they can live out that fantasy. They become the person they could have been in another life." His eyes flashed. "Before we came along and fucked it all up."

Her mouth went dry.

"Mom and I aren't like that. We're friends."

"Hm."

His eyes roamed her face.

"She's your friend because she doesn't know how to be your mother."

The words were a lance through the chest. She bristled.

"You don't know the first thing about us! You've only been in our lives for six months. Besides, at least my mom likes me."

She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

A shadow materialized from the ether, casting across his face, darkening his gaze. The purple bruise seemed to grow and spread in tiny rivulets, ink surging through his veins.

"Your mother likes you when you're agreeable."

Hermione drew back, heart thrumming madly. "That isn't true."

"No?" He stepped closer, the toe of his boot grazing her bare foot. "Try defying her. See how much she likes you then."

"I'm not going to be difficult for the marvel of it. I don't have anything to prove."

He smiled, teeth gleaming. "Of course not. You have everything figured out, don't you?"

The acid in his voice burned her skin.

"I don't go searching out fights to feel a rush."

His hands flexed at his sides, torn knuckles cracking.

"No, you go searching through the woods."

Her heart dropped to her stomach with a heavy thud.

He held her terrified gaze, amusement dancing across his features.

"Don't look so scared. It's not like I took footage of you crying."

She blinked.

Crying?

He seemed to read the question in her eyes.

"I see you walking home sometimes. You always look like you're on the verge of tears before slipping into the trees." His smirk grew. "Unless you're doing something else?"

She couldn't breathe.

"It's none of your business."

He laughed. "You would have been better off saying you go there to talk to the flowers. Now you've piqued my interest." He wet his lips, face sobering. "And I simply must know."

She remembered the snapping twig, the flash of a shoulder.

"Have you been following me?"

"If I were then I wouldn't be so curious, now would I?"

She rose to her feet, hands curling tightly.

"Stay away from me, Tom Riddle."

He raised a brow, smile widening. "How am I supposed to do that? You're about to become my little sister."

She inhaled sharply at the title. The words caused something sinister to unfurl inside her.

"Get out of my room."

His eyes narrowed as he took a large step forward, bumping into her chest. She shrieked and reared back, losing her balance and toppling to the floor.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Her mother shouted from downstairs.

She averted her glare upward as she scrambled to her feet, but he was already slipping through the door.

"I'm fine! Just tripped!" She called back, cheeks bright red.

His answering laughter echoed down the hall.

* * *

**Wednesday, August 26, 1998**

Hermione took a deep breath, laying back in the empty tub as though soaking in water.

The bathroom lights were off, but enough light filtered in from the main room she could see the small space quite clearly.

The motel was off the beaten path. Run down. Grimy. She'd laid towels across the bottom of the basin before stepping foot inside it.

She'd paid for the room with the cash from the man's discarded wallet. Greyson. Grey-something. She didn't remember. The entire ordeal was a blur. It always became faded and distant after the fact.

A beep echoed off the tiles, a blue light illuminating the side of the tub. Hermione sighed, picking the phone up.

She read the message on the screen.

And felt her ribcage crack down the center.

Tom.

She lowered the phone to her thigh, staring at the shadows as tears started to silently fall.

She'd been hoping for more time. Then again, she was surprised it took him five days to realize she wasn't going to arrive.

It had taken her months to create the farce. The entire time plagued with terror he'd find out the truth somehow. Stop her from leaving.

And now that she'd finally made her escape, every fiber of her being screamed for her to return home.

Back to Tom.

The only person who knew. The only one who could keep her from-

A knock sounded at the front door.

Hermione leaped out of her skin.

She stared through the bathroom doorway, across the bedroom to the wooden obstruction, the deadbolt and chain firmly locked.

Her mind raced as fast as her heart.

_Maybe it's a mistake._

The knock sounded again.

_Oh god._

_The police._

_They've found me._

She stood from the tub on trembling legs, stepping onto the cool tile in a dazed stupor.

_This is it._

_Free for less than a week and I've already gone and fucked it up._

She slowly walked across the room, hands curled tightly. She paused outside the door, bracing herself. And then a third pounding knock sounded, jolting her. Hermione wet her lips.

"Coming!"

She leaned forward, gazing through the peephole.

And saw no one.

She reared back, heart stuttering.

_No._

And then she heard it.

Scraping.

Fingernails against wood.

She backed away from the door rapidly, pulling at her hair.

"Go away!" She screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She watched in horror as a piece of paper slowly slid beneath the door.

She blinked at it numbly, Shaking her head as she saw a familiar image take shape.

It was a photograph, the overhead light glaring off the glossy front. Hermione slowly stepped forward, picking it up with trembling fingers.

The girl stared back at her with the same hollow eyes and blood marred face from before.

The corner of the picture was singed. She traced the edges, flipping it over, staring at the bloody fingerprints dried across the back. She swallowed heavily as she realized they were her own.

_This isn't real._

_It can't be._

Hermione spun on her heal and ran back into the bathroom, picking up the forgotten phone.

She fumbled with the buttons, pulling up the texts she'd spent the last three days avoiding.

It was time to respond.

* * *

**Sunday, December 26, 1993**

Hermione plunged her red stained hands into the snow. Her fingers instantly stung with the bitter cold before quickly turning numb. She used the wetness to wipe them clean against the nearby tree, finally shoving them back into her gloves.

She rubbed her palms together, trying to increase the circulation.

She spared the ground before her another glance, unable to see any signs of her work. She then kicked the pile of snow she'd just submerged her hands in, spreading the red until it turned pink and melted into the leaves beneath.

Satisfied she'd covered her tracks Hermione turned around, intent on heading home.

And felt the bottom drop out from beneath her feet.

Tom leaned against a tree ten yards away, watching her with gleaming eyes, his breath emerging from his parted lips in steady puffs visible against the cold air.

Hermione stumbled back, shaking uncontrollably.

"Well…" Tom tilted his head, gaze flickering to the ground behind her, then back to her eyes. "That was unexpected."

She turned and ran.

As fast as she could. An animal sprinting for its life, the wolf tearing after her.

But his legs were much longer, easily catching up within moments, tackling her from behind, spilling them both to the hard snow packed earth. The trees surrounding them were dead but dense, creating a privacy screen from the main road.

No one would see her. No one would hear her scream.

She'd chosen the location for that very reason, not knowing it would one day work against her so spectacularly.

Hermione clawed at the ground, trying to drag herself away, but he grabbed the waist of her jeans and dragged her back. He reared up, crawling over her, straddling her middle, grabbing her flailing arms by the wrists and pinning them beside her head.

"Get off me!" She screamed, breath steaming out of her.

Tom laughed, eyes bright, face flushed.

"The chase is always my favorite part."

She blinked.

"Of course, I've never captured another predator before." He licked his lips, chest heaving. "I admit I'm deeply fascinated."

Hermione arched her back, bucked her hips in an attempt to throw him off. He hissed, squeezing her wrists painfully.

"I don't recommend doing that, little sister. Not unless you want this to play out very differently."

" _Stop_ calling me that!"

He laughed again. "Stop reacting so strongly every time and maybe I will."

She settled back down, his immovable weight forcing her to change tactics.

"I can explain-"

"I really don't think an explanation is necessary. A picture is worth a thousand words and I just got a rather detailed live demonstration."

"It's not what it looks like."

He arched a dark brow. "No? Alright, let's hear it then."

She blinked rapidly. "I was practicing my technique for school."

He stared at her for several stuttered beats before exploding into deep belly laughter. He rocked so hard he tipped over, clutching his sides, relinquishing her of his weight.

But she was so shocked by his reaction she didn't try to flee. Instead, she slowly sat up, watching him carefully, knowing his moods flipped on a dime.

A short eternity passed before he finally settled down, laying flat in the snow, his long body cutting a dark line across the pure white. He turned his head, gazing at her, cheeks and nose tipped red, eyes sparkling like stars against the night sky.

"That was a good one. Tell me another."

She swallowed heavily.

"Are you going to turn me in?"

He rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand.

"Depends. What will you give me to keep my mouth shut?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"This isn't a game."

His gaze roamed her face. "No, it's a negotiation."

She sighed in frustration, glancing around the stretch of forest once more, desperate for an escape.

"I'll just catch you again. And the more times you run, the wilder I'll get. You don't want to be alone with me when I hit the point of no return."

His body remained relaxed, voice passive, as though discussing the weather. But his eyes held her utterly captive.

She was almost afraid to ask, but she couldn't stop herself from forming the words.

"What do you mean?"

He tilted his head like a large bird of prey, gazing at her with an eerie stillness.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, little sister." She didn't flinch this time. Instead, the name caused a stirring of warmth within her. "We aren't so different, you and I."

He wet his lips, smiling. "We may not share the same blood, but we seem to share the same interests."

The world around her turned to smoke and ash. All that remained was him. They hovered above the dark abyss, existing only at this moment.

"This isn't an interest," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes unbidden. "It's a sickness. An obsession."

He released a deep breath, sitting upright beside her.

"You only feel that way because you're ashamed. Once you learn to accept this part of yourself you'll find it's quite exhilarating."

She blinked, tears tracking down her cheeks. She wiped them away, too wracked by fear and guilt to feel any shred of embarrassment.

He examined her with obvious intrigue.

"So that's why I always see you crying." He reached out a gloved hand, the pad of his thumb clearing away a trace of wetness she'd missed. She was too shocked by the gentle touch to pull away. "What a waste of energy. You haven't even used a person yet."

Her heart leaped dangerously.

"I never intend to. I'm trying to stop. I haven't come out here in weeks. Not since before the wedding." Her shoulders tensed. "But then the Christmas party happened and I-" Hermione shook her head, allowing her curls to fall forward and mask her face from view. "I caved."

All was silent for several moments, and behind the shelter of hair, Hermione could almost pretend she was alone.

Almost.

But despite the total stillness surrounding her, Tom's very aura sparked and crackled against her skin like an electrical current. He was impossible to miss, even when she couldn't see him.

For she'd known she was being followed as she walked into the woods this morning.

She just thought it had been… something else.

Looking back she chided herself for being so careless, so complacent.

And yet a small part of her was immensely relieved. The part of her longing to be caught, hoping for divine intervention to do what she hadn't the strength to do herself. Stop this madness from going any further.

Stop her before she took a human life.

But it seemed her prayers had yet to be answered.

Because Tom clearly had no intention of saving her from herself. If anything, he looked more excited than she'd ever seen him before. The effect was rather breathtaking...

She quickly pushed those thoughts aside. They were discarded with more ease than her other dark urges. It seemed her moral compass was calibrated to measure levels of depravity and nothing else.

But the silence was broken by the sound of Tom's body drawing near, the wet scrape of boots against the frozen earth. She held her breath as her hair was pushed aside by hands not her own.

Tom's handsome face came into view just beside her, bearing no trace of his previous amusement.

"Hermione."

She shivered.

"The more you fight it, the less control you'll actually have."

Her eyes flickered between his. "What are you suggesting?"

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist, and your soul grows sick with longing."

The low hum of his voice was a balm to her frayed nerves.

"I don't think this is what Oscar Wilde had in mind when he wrote that."

Tom smiled, canines elongated to sharp points. Her pupils dilated rapidly, breath catching.

"We aren't like other people, Hermione. Therefore we shouldn't be restrained by the limitations they set for themselves."

She blinked slowly, trying to reign in her base reaction.

"You keep saying we."

"I do."

She swallowed tentatively.

"Have you ever…" she couldn't bring herself to say it. But he understood her well enough, putting her out of her misery.

"Not yet. But soon."

She drew back. "You _want_ to hurt people?"

His jaw flexed. "It isn't about them, Hermione. You know that." His eyes flashed predatorily. "Don't act like them. You're _nothing_ like them."

She felt tears burning anew. "That's the problem."

"Problem?" He scoffed loudly, tipping his head back. "Why the hell would you _want_ to be among the mindless cattle?" He drew closer yet. "You're smarter, braver, wilder, _better_."

Her entire body throbbed.

_"You're a great girl, Hermione… A model student, respectful to your mother, polite and kind."_

Hermione much preferred Tom's description.

And yet…

"I'm also disturbed."

His sharp laugh cut through the building tension like a scalpel.

"Who isn't?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Most people don't engage in this sort of behavior. That's why there are laws against it."

"There are laws in place because people _want_ to engage in illicit behavior. Everyone loves to sin, Hermione."

She breathed deeply, holding the cold air in her lungs until they burned, then releasing it in a satisfying whoosh.

"I love it a bit too much."

She bit her lip, glancing away.

Tom reached out, grasping her chin and turning her face back to his. The grey in his eyes darkened as his thumb tugged her lip free. Heat rushed to every surface of her body.

"You aren't alone anymore." He focused on her mouth, causing her to vibrate with her very heartbeat. "I can help you."

Her chin brushed his lingering hand as she spoke.

"The only help I need is finding a way to stop."

His eyes flickered up, holding her steady. "You need someone who understands. You've been alone your entire life." His pupils enlarged. Seeing the transformation on someone else was surreal. Exhilarating. "Just like me."

She shook her head, causing his hand to drop away. "I haven't been alone. Mom has always been there."

"If she knew, she'd turn on you. Trust me."

She opened her mouth to protest but fell short on her argument at the haunted look in his eyes.

"I thought your mother died when you were born?"

He was silent for such a long stretch of time she became convinced he wouldn't respond.

But then-

"She did." He clipped, muscles tensed. "My grandparents raised me. Until I got to be too much for them to handle, and they pawned me off on the bastard who sired me."

Her chest ached. "I'm sorr-"

"Don't be."

Her jaw snapped shut. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away.

"What I'm saying is, just because people are around doesn't mean they'll be there when you need them most."

She dug her fingers into the frozen ground beside her.

"I'm sorry your family let you down, Tom. But my mom isn't like that. She wouldn't turn on me." She sighed. "Still, I'd rather die than have her know the truth."

Tom glanced up, amusement etching his face once more. "I guess it's a good thing we're family then."

She paled.

"We aren't family."

"I beg to differ."

"There's more to family than legal documents."

He tilted his head, the rest of his body eerily still.

"Like blood."

Something in his tone was sinister, tinged with dark amusement. It unnerved her greatly.

"Among other theeeee!"

She shrieked as Tom leaped forward, knocking her flat on her back once more.

"Tom!"

He pinned her easily, this time lying fully across the length of her body. His amused laughter did nothing to ease her rising dread.

And then he withdrew a switchblade from his coat pocket.

"Tom! This isn't funny! Get off me!"

"Making demands didn't work out so well for you last time. Perhaps you should try asking nicely."

She thrashed like a feral creature about to be consumed. Tom grabbed her hand as she swung at his face and easily held it in place between them. She gasped as he leaned down and bit the tip of her glove, pulling it off with his mouth.

She watched in dread and wonder as he repeated the motion with his own glove. Their naked palms touched, causing electricity to snake up her arm and down her spine, numbing her toes.

"What are you-"

She stopped short as he flicked the blade open with deft skill, slicing into his palm without flinching. Blood welled along the incision, dripping down his wrist. She realized what he intended to do before he did it, and yet she was so entranced she put up no fight as he pressed the blade against her own palm.

He paused, eyes meeting hers. She held her breath, body lying still beneath him.

Tom held her gaze as the knife penetrated her skin. She blinked at the sharp sting, inhaling deeply as he drew the blade down, creating a shallow cut along the center. She felt the blood rush to the surface, the bitter cold meeting the liquid, thickening it.

He pulled the knife away, pressing their injuries together.

His blood entered her veins like fire, spreading a burning heat through every limb.

_"I hope in time you'll be able to rub off on Tom."_

She stared at their joined hands in a daze.

Tom interlaced their fingers, his flesh warming hers on the outside as his blood set her aflame from within.

"What about now, Hermione?"

He leaned his head down, words ghostling across her lips.

"Are we family now?"

A blush stained her cheeks, thoughts too frantic to compose a rational response. So she nodded instead, lost to the grey wilderness in his eyes.

"Good." A knowing smile curved his lips. " _Little sister_."

* * *

**Wednesday, August 26, 1998**

Tom jolted at the sudden buzzing in his pocket.

He reached back and extracted the phone, jaw set tight as the screen lit up.

His heartbeat reverberated through every limb, down into each toe as he saw Hermione's name flash across the screen.

"Good girl," he whispered, opening the text.

It was three words.

He read them four times before sighing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose.

**It found me**

"Fucking hell."

He quickly typed out a response, wanting to call her but knowing the sound of his voice would only overwhelm her further.

She possessed fangs and claws the likes of which he'd never seen on any creature but himself. But when the lights went down and the ghosts came out she turned into a frightened doe, trembling between his teeth.

_**It's not real Hermione** _

Her reply was instantaneous.

**It is real. It gave me a present**

He sighed, leaning against the hallway banister.

_**What did it give you?** _

There was a delay. He ground his teeth.

Finally-

**A photo**

Tom blinked.

Her hallucinations had never manifested themselves quite like this before…

_It's evolving._

This wasn't good.

_**A photo of what?** _

**I can't tell you**

He rotated his head, cracking his neck in irritation.

_**You need to come home** _

_**I can help you get rid of it** _

_**I always do.** _

He stared at the screen with such intensity he was amazed the screen didn't crack beneath the onslaught.

**I can't**

He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing high.

_**You can. You must.** _

_**You know what happens when you're alone for too long.** _

His hands shook as he read her response.

**I can't go back Tom**

He blinked once. Twice. Then breathed deeply, chest splitting open.

_**Why did you leave?** _

A pause.

_**Was it something I did?** _

His jaw ticked as he continued to type.

_**Tell me and I'll fix it.** _

He started to type _please_ but quickly erased it.

He stared at the clock at the top of the screen. Four minutes passed before her response appeared.

**I didn't leave you.**

**I left me.**

He sank down the banister to the floor, long legs stretched out before him as the phone buzzed again.

**The only escape was leaving everything behind.**

His eyes flashed, hand gripping the phone so tightly the plastic groaned.

_**You can't escape yourself Hermione** _

_**You can't escape the hunger** _

_**You feel it, don't you?** _

_**Eating away at your insides** _

_**Poisoning your veins** _

He paused, his pulse thrumming through each fingertip.

_**Unless you've already given into it** _

Her prolonged silence was all the answer he needed.

_**Hermione** _

_**What have you done?** _

He could almost hear her breathy plea in the words she sent.

**It was an accident**

He shook his head, chest rumbling with the chaos her words unleashed.

_**You need to come home so I can protect you.** _

_**You can't do this alone. There are too many risks.** _

He tipped his head back to rest against the banister, trying to keep his breathing steady.

_I need to ask around campus and find out who can trace a cell signal._

The phone buzzed. He braced himself before reading it.

His chest swelled.

**Where are you**

_**Where do you think** _

**Is she dead**

_**What if she is?** _

**Tom**

He closed his eyes, releasing a long breath.

_**She isn't dead. Yet. But she will be soon** _

She didn't reply, he knew she was waiting for his next words with bated breath. The idea of her sitting somewhere with her phone clutched between her small hands, hanging onto his every word thrilled him beyond reason.

_**Come home and she lives** _

**I can't come home**

**you know what will happen**

_**I do.** _

**Don't make me be the one to do it**

_**Would you rather I did it then?** _

**No.**

**Please Tom**

**let her go**

_**That's not one of your options** _

_**come home and say goodbye** _

_**or I kill her now and then find you anyway** _

He smirked, picturing the conflict in her hazel eyes, the woe on her pretty face.

_**I suggest you choose fast Hermione** _

_**This is her third day without food or water** _

**I hate you**

He smiled, breathing the words deep into his lungs, basking in their glow like a cat in the sun.

_**I know** _

He licked his lips, relishing the taste of victory.

_**See you soon little sister** _

* * *

**Saturday, August 19, 1995**

"Where are we going, Tom?"

"I thought I told you to keep quiet."

She glared up at him.

"Excuse me for being curious as to why you're dragging me off into the woods in the dead of night." She raised a brow. "Planning to murder me?"

"I've certainly fantasized about it enough."

She blinked.

"Have you really?"

He peered over his shoulder, still leading her by the wrist through the dark trees.

"Of course. Haven't you thought about killing me?"

She wet her lips. "Often."

He smirked. "What's your favorite?"

She glanced away with flushed cheeks.

He chuckled deeply, squeezing her wrist. "Don't be shy. Come on, what's your favorite method, if you had unlimited time and resources?"

She bit her lip. "You first."

He rolled his eyes, facing forward, pushing aside low hanging branches with the arm holding the flashlight.

"Alright, but you better not steal it."

She smiled. "I am sure my method will be far superior, but should yours somehow manage to impress me, I'll refrain from stealing it."

He shook his head. "One of the first things I'd do is cut out that tongue."

She scoffed. "Pathetic. I'd bleed out within minutes."

"I'd cauterize it."

"Sloppy."

"Are you going to criticize me the entire time?"

"That you're killing me? Probably."

He tried to set her down with a stern look but his smirk gave away the excitement brewing beneath the surface. He was looking forward to whatever lied ahead in their evening. The thought that he was surprising her with something he'd planned in secret filled her chest with warmth.

"Okay, I'll be quiet. Go ahead. Kill me."

She struggled to step over a fallen log, allowing him to pull her across with an arm around her waist.

"First," he whispered in her ear, sending chills down her spine, "I'd lure you somewhere isolated."

She fought back a smile.

"Next, I'd overpower you." His hands slid to her hips, squeezing lightly before releasing, reaching for her hand and resuming their walk. "I'd tie your hands behind your back, bind your feet, and stand you on a crate while I strung a noose around your neck."

She blinked, taken off guard. She'd been expecting blood and gore by now, as prone as he was towards explosive violence.

"I'd have you strung high enough to put us nose to nose. I'd wrap my arm around your waist and kick the crate away."

She focused on every word with rapturous awe.

"You'd thrash against me, scrambling for some semblance of control. And yet your every breath would be completely dependant on me holding you up. You'd spend your final moments knowing I was totally in control of you, that I could let you go at any time. That there's nothing you can do but beg me to keep my arm around you."

Her body pulsated at every delicate curve, thrumming with phantom sensation. She kept tripping, finally giving up the struggle and stopping in her tracks completely.

Tom stopped as well, turning to face her head on, her narrow wrist still tightly encased in his hand.

"I'd loosen my hold on you bit by bit, little by little, making you more crazed and desperate with every passing second."

She swallowed thickly as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them, weaving an arm around her waist and pressing her into his body.

"Our mouths would be level," he whispered, head lowering. "As your windpipe is slowly closed off I'd press my lips to yours and blow air into your mouth."

She held deathly still, frozen, hands clutching his upper arms in a vice as their noses bumped. He tilted his head, lips hovering above her own.

"Just like this."

He sealed their mouths, not in a kiss, but in a vacuum, blowing air into her mouth. Hermione inhaled sharply on instinct, drawing his breath into her lungs, swelling with it, holding it as their chests pressed together.

The arm around her middle squeezed her closer, pressing her ribs until they screamed. She released her breath, forced to deflate, but their mouths remained locked and her oxygen and carbon dioxide flooded his mouth this time. Her thighs clenched as he inhaled deeply, chest filling with her recycled breath.

He finally pulled back, exhaling slowly, as though relishing the smoke from a cigarette, smile slowly unfurling across his face.

"I'd loosen my hold until you were seeking my mouth for air." Hermione's knees felt weak as he acted out his words, his arm slowly releasing her.

"Eventually your throat would be closed off completely. You'd be eye level with me as you choked. I'd be the last thing you saw. You'd die cursing my name, and yet your final wish would be for me to hold you one last time, give you one last breath. It would be more excruciating for you than anything I could cut off or carve into you."

His arm fell away entirely. Hermione rocked back on unsteady legs.

The moonlight illuminated his eyes into glowing orbs, hovering in the darkness surrounding them.

"What do you think?"

She blinked.

He smiled knowingly at her prolonged silence.

The smug satisfaction in his expression brought her back to the surface. She wet her lips before swallowing past the obstruction in her throat.

_He doesn't even need a rope to choke me._

"That was very poetic, Tom. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Expected meat hooks and a chainsaw?"

"I expected to lose at least one of my limbs."

He took up their trek once more. "I didn't tell you how I'd discard your corpse." He winked over his shoulder. "That's when the real fun would start."

She smiled. "You already had your turn."

He chuckled, facing ahead. "Fair enough. Alright, how would you kill me?"

She felt an electric thrill seize her, arching her spine as she trotted eagerly behind him.

"Well, first I'd-"

She stumbled into his back as a strange sound echoed through the trees around them.

"First you'd what?"

"Shh! Do you hear that?"

Tom raised a dark brow.

"I don't hear anyth-"

"There it is again!"

She stopped in her tracks, pulling her arm back as he tried to pull her forward.

"You're being paranoid, there's nothing-"

A branch snapped at their backs.

Tom spun around, shining the flashlight in the direction of the trees. The beam of light illuminated the cluster of trunks and dancing leaves.

Two glowing eyes flashed before them. Hermione yelped, clutching Tom's shoulder as the entity darted up a tree. Tom tilted the light upward, revealing the mysterious creature crouched on a low branch.

"That fucking eavesdropper." Tom glanced over his shoulder, eyes bright in the moonlight. "We can't trust him to keep his mouth shut. We have to kill him."

She shook her head, eyes still searching the trees.

"Whatever broke that branch was bigger than a raccoon, Tom."

He stoic expression crumbled, amusement etching lines in his chiseled face.

"It was probably a fat raccoon then. We _are_ in the woods. There are lots of animals here." He tilted his head, even his voice was smirking. "In case you weren't aware of that fact."

Her jaw ticked as she released his shoulder, taking a step back. "Hardy har har."

He chuckled, taking hold of her wrist once more. She opened her mouth to protest but the words died in her throat as his fingers traced along the scar on her palm before intertwining with her own.

She gazed down at their joined hands, blinking.

"Come on, it's not much further."

She allowed him to pull her along in his wake, her heartbeat centered in her palm, pounding against his. The cartilage of their scars rubbed together. Hermione's lips remained parted in wonderment until they reached the edge of a clearing.

Then her jaw dropped.

To say the sight that awaited her was unexpected would be a gross understatement.

Tom came to a stop, smirking over his shoulder, pleased with himself.

"Surprise."

She blinked several times, her heart skipping beats in rapid succession, making her dizzy.

"Tom…" she drew in closer to his side, hiding behind him, peering over his shoulder at the bound figure laid across the grass with a bag over its head. "What have you done?"

"I got you a present." He tilted his head, eyes roaming the prone creature. "Correction. I got _us_ a present." He wet his lips. "Something to share. A memory to create, whatever Hallmark drivel speaks to your heart." He shrugged lightly. "I'm leaving for school tomorrow and thought we deserved one last hoorah."

She drew in a sharp, nervous breath, excitement racing through her at his words. And fear.

"Tom." She pressed into his back, their hands still interlaced between them. "We can't. It isn't right."

She felt him inhale deeply, slowly. "You haven't even unwrapped it."

She gazed up in confusion. He met her eyes. His own were tinged with a wildness that caused her heart to stutter painfully. She knew that look. Knew what it meant.

And she knew what happened when those eyes turned even wilder.

"I don't want-"

"Just take the bag off. If afterward you still don't want to, we'll leave."

She didn't believe that for a moment.

And yet…

Hermione gazed once more at the still figure on the ground, seemingly dead already but for the shallow rise and fall of their chest.

She blinked. Something about the body seemed… familiar.

She peered back at Tom with wide eyes.

"Is it someone we know?"

He raised a brow. "Only one way to find out." He released her hand, gesturing ahead. "Go on. Don't be shy."

She stepped forward on trembling legs, slowly crossing the grass as though wading through the River of Woe.

She inhaled shakily as she came to the man's shoulders.

Hermione glanced back with bated excitement, bouncing on her heels. Tom smiled indulgently.

"Any slower and he'll die of old age."

She rolled her eyes and knelt down, handing hovering in mid-air before she held her breath and pulled the sack away.

She reared back, hitting the grass as the man's unconscious face came into view.

"You didn't."

Tom walked up behind her.

"I did."

She looked up, eyes gleaming.

"How?"

Tom smiled, as though the memory delighted him.

"Waited outside his work until his shift ended. Told him I scored some chronic and was looking to sell, after offering a free sample of course." He shrugged one shoulder casually. "He invited me into his car and drove us out here himself. Child's play, really."

Hermione shook her head.

"No, I meant… how did you know?"

Tom's eyes flashed, smile dropping like a dead weight. His entire body went tense, radiating danger in visible waves.

"I heard you crying through the wall when you got home that night. The next day I noticed you trying to hide something under your sleeve." His jaw ticked. "At school the idiot had the nerve to brag about your supposed _date_."

Hermione looked away, hand ghosting across her forearm unconsciously. The bruise was mostly faded now, but when she gazed upon the unconscious man before her, she felt his hands on her again, the crushing vice of his fingers pinning her arm behind her back.

She was transported back to the claustrophobic front seat of his Honda Civic. She could feel the scalding breath panting across her neck, hear his moans as he wrestled a hand between her jean-clad thighs-

She gasped as another hand grabbed her.

"Hermione."

She blinked rapidly, gazing up at Tom once more, settling beneath his hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry." She rubbed her burning eyes. "It wasn't a date. He offered me a ride home after I was studying late at the library. I only accepted because it was dark and I was afraid I'd-" She swallowed thickly. "I just wanted to get home as soon as possible."

Tom's eyes were lethal, grip tensing.

"I knew if I asked you'd lie. I was going to kill the fucker with my bare hands. But when the opportunity presented itself, I thought you deserved the honors."

She tilted her head, warmth permeating her chest. Tom was not a selfless person to say the least. He was a creature born of temptation and desire, never one to curb his urges for the good of another.

"You held off killing him for me?"

The chilling rage ebbed as the corner of his mouth lifted.

"I would have killed him too fast. Just thinking about him being alone with you… it would have been over in the blink of an eye." He wet his lips. "You're the patient one."

His voice and gaze lulled her into a trance. She remained kneeling beside him, supplicant to his will, his siren song of darkness. It stirred the creature within her, beckoned it forth with the promise of a satisfying meal...

"We're going to have fun tonight." Lightning flashed in his eyes. Her body throbbed. "I brought your tools."

She blinked, turning her head to follow the direction of his gaze.

She saw her black medical bag sitting on the grass. Her heart swelled. She looked back at Tom, mouth dry.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, seemingly unaffected by his surrounding. "You'll have time for that later." The black of his pupils swallowed the grey. "But first…"

He kicked the prone figure in the ribs. The man gasped for air, waking with a startled jolt, folding over to wheeze in pain.

His eyes blinked in shock as he realized his hands and feet were bound.

"Wha-" he bucked wildly. "What the fuck is this?" He gazed up, eyes fixed on the tall lithe figure above him. "Riddle? What the fuck, man! Untie me!"

Hermione drew back at the sound of his voice. The last time she'd heard it he'd been panting in her ear, whispering filthy things as he dry humped her leg.

Her movement drew his focus. His face paled considerably as he saw her.

"Granger?" He tried to scoot back in the grass, only managing to roll halfway onto his back, trapping his hands beneath him. "What are you doing? Tell him to untie me!"

She tilted her head, muscles tearing away from the bone, resolidifying as metal.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Cormac."

The utter calm in her voice seemed to terrify him more than the rope binding his wrists.

Hermione slowly smiled, leaning in.

"It's okay, calm down, baby." She basked in the dawning fear, the realization of his situation as she repeated his words back to him. "I'm going to take good care of you. Don't fight me. I promise to make it good for you if you don't fight."

He opened and closed his mouth several times, broken sounds emitting before he could manage words.

"Grang-" he swallowed desperately. " _Hermione_ , please, I didn't mean to- we were just messing around. I wasn't going to, I mean, we stopped before anything happened."

Her eyes flashed, fangs descending.

"Only because I stabbed you in the thigh with my keys before escaping your car."

He shook his head rapidly. "It wasn't like that!"

"I was there, Cormac, I don't need you to tell me what it was like."

"Okay! Okay, so let's talk. Untie me and we can-"

"Enough."

Tom's sinister voice drew both their focus upward. He towered above them like the angel of death himself.

"I'm tired of hearing his voice." His predatory gaze shifted to Hermione. "Start with his tongue?"

She grinned like the cat that got the cream.

"I think I'd like to hear him beg. At least for a little while."

Cormac screamed into the night for help, for mercy, for God, thrashing wildly against his binds all the while.

Tom smirked. "Whatever you want, little sister." He started walking for her bag. "Whatever you want."

.   .   .

Tom sat perched against a tree, hands folded behind his head, eyes gleaming beneath hooded lids. He watched her work with supreme satisfaction, his heart beating a strong and steady call to war as her skillful hands moved without fail or fluster.

She was breathtaking.

A work of art. Hands soaked in red, face flush, lips parted, eyes narrowed in concentration.

His body throbbed.

He flexed his jaw, sharp canines scraping his gums.

The scent of blood called to him from the dark depths of Tartarus. He felt claws tear through his nail beds, elongating to wicked daggers.

He couldn't play the role of idle watcher anymore.

The beast within him was awakening, snapping its teeth at the air, howling into the night sky.

It needed to feed…

But this time it craved a different meal.

It wanted to hunt, to chase, to subdue. He wanted to feel a body thrash and beg beneath him. Wanted to sink his fangs into the tender flesh at their throat. But he needed another type of sustenance this night… another form of surrender.

She was so focused on her task she never heard him coming.

.   .   .

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm.

She realized a moment too late her forearm was marred with wet blood.

_Shit._

She sighed, setting her scalpel aside and wiping her skin clean on her jeans.

_I wish I'd known the plan for this evening, I'd have brought a change of clothes._

She shook her head at the notion.

No.

She liked that Tom made the effort to surprise her. That he obtained such a thoughtful present.

She couldn't find any reason to complain.

_I'll climb the trellis to my bedroom window. I think I left it unlocked from the last time Tom had to sneak in._

Thinking his name once more caused her to draw back, turning her head to seek his reassuring gaze.

But the tree he was last seen leaning against sat empty.

She blinked, eyes searching through the pool of darkness.

And then she felt it.

That electric current kissing her nape, the tiny fingers tracing up her spine.

She spun around just in time to see a flash of darkness overtake her.

The wolf pounced, fur a sleek black, gleaming beneath the moonlight.

The beast had her pinned flat beneath its weight before the next stuttered heartbeat.

"Tom- uhn!" She gasped as he raised his knee between her legs, pressing into her core. She tipped her head back against the blood-stained grass and moaned into the darkness.

A deep growl emanated from the recesses of his chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head as his mouth descended on her exposed throat. Teeth scraped the skin, nipped at her flesh, wet tongue lapping at the markings, chasing the pain with pleasure.

His hands pulled at the bottom hem of her shirt, claws raking her stomach. She inhaled sharply, causing her chest to press hard against his, restricting her breath. His pupils dilated at her wheezing gasp, his mouth sliding over hers, stealing her breath.

She felt tears burning behind her eyes, something wild stirring within her. She thought the darkness was already awoken after the first drop of blood welled from beneath the broken skin of her prey.

But this… this was something else entirely.

Something base and reckless and feral. She clawed at his back, shredding the material of his shirt. His tongue invaded her mouth as his hands drifted lower, tugging at the fly of her jeans. She ground her hips against him, earning an animalistic snarl.

The kiss devoured her, sapped her strength. Her vision faded. She tried to pull her head away, desperate for air, but she couldn't evade him, pinned between the earth and his body. Just as her death throes started he breathed life into her anew, pushing his air into her lungs, eliciting a whimper of surrender.

The noise seemed to fuel him. He reared up above her, the moon glowing brightly at his back, illuminating him as the supernatural entity that he was. His hands unbuttoned her jeans, each pull of the zipper echoing loudly through the night, stirring creatures burrowed in the earth and nestled in the trees.

His large hand slid into the hidden cavern where she was helpless to hide, his body surging towards her once again, teeth bared. His fangs sank into her shoulder, breaking the skin, causing her to scream and thrash with ecstasy. The rough pads of his fingers found her most intimate folds, kneading, exploring. She bucked her hips into his as a thick digit worked its way inside her.

_This is death._

She panted like an animal in heat, raking her nails down the flesh of his back, tearing the skin, caking her claws with blood.

As he consumed her flesh from above and below Hermione tipped her head back, eyes glazed with pure animal heat-

And gazed upon a pair of boots in the treeline.

Her eyes widened, body coming to life like a live wire.

"Tom!"

He reared back, eyes still wild but alert, no doubt detecting the change in her voice. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt, willing him to follow her gaze.

The wind came in strong, blowing branches and obstructing her view of the boots' owner, and a moment later they were stepping back, disappearing into the woods.

"What?" His voice was pure gravel.

"Someone was watching us!"

He blinked, head snapping up and body rearing back with predatory grace. She cringed as his hand withdrew roughly, leaving her walls clenching in his wake.

She scrambled to sit up, pulling at the zipper of her jeans.

"Where?" He panted, skin still flushed with the remnants of their furious mating.

"Over there! I saw his feet!" She pointed to the spot she'd last seen the interloper.

Tom sprang to life, grabbing the flashlight and hatchet, taking off into the woods.

"Stay here!" He called over his shoulder before disappearing entirely.

She blinked in shock, body quaking with fear.

She opened her mouth, desperate to shout for him, but then clamped her jaw shut.

_Better to not distract him._

He was lethal when left to his own devices. She was better off staying out of his way.

So she sank to her knees, trying to regulate her frantic breath. Her eyes drifted to the leftover pieces of her work.

She swallowed thickly. Now that the red haze had passed she was left staring at the carnage with sobering alertness.

_Did I do all this?_

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

_I'm a monster._

She jumped as she heard a branch snap. She leaped to her feet, spinning in a circle.

"Hello?"

She cringed at the tremor in her voice.

_What if they hurt Tom?_

The thought terrified and infuriated her. She ran for the shovel, picking it up and wielding it like a baseball bat, spinning in circles, studying the swaying mass of dark leaves and glowing beady eyes until she felt dizzy.

And then she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

"It's just me!"

Tom emerged from the trees a moment later, the bouncing light of his flashlight illuminating the red grass, his hatchet gleaming shiny.

And clean.

"Did you find him?"

He was panting lightly, no doubt having spent the entire time running.

"There's no sign of anyone."

She blinked, shoulders drawing back as she lowered the shovel.

"I _know_ what I saw, Tom."

He narrowed his eyes, clicking the flashlight off.

"The area you pointed to is thick with mud. If anyone was over there they'd have left footprints."

Her jaw ticked. "Maybe they covered their tracks."

He rolled his eyes, making her blood boil. She took a step closer.

"Or maybe they avoided the mud!"

"If you stumbled in on a bloody crime scene and one of the assailants started chasing you through the woods, do you really think you'd take the time to cover your tracks and watch where you stepped?"

She drew back, swallowing. Her face paled considerably as he described their evening activity. He seemed to notice the change in her, sighing deeply.

"Hermione, relax."

She shook her head."What have I done? I crossed the line I promised myself I never would."

"That bastard tried to rape you. He deserved every minute of your payback."

She threaded her fingers through her hair, hysteria bubbling.

"I'm sick." She glanced to the mangled mess beside them. " _This_ is sick!"

Tom stepped forward and grasped her shoulders.

"Look at me." When her frantic gaze refused to do so he grabbed her chin and forcefully turned her face to his. "You did what needed to be done. He had to be stopped. He was a bad man that hurt innocent women. You think you were the first he tried to assault?"

She blinked rapidly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I should have reported him like a normal person, not _this_ -"

"But we're not normal, Hermione." He rested his forehead against hers, voice gentle, coaxing. "We're so much more."

She focused on the shimmering grey of his eyes, feeling her rising panic ebb slowly.

She placed her hands to his chest, centered over the steady beat of his heart. She forced herself to match the pace of his breathing.

"I really did see someone."

His hand slid around to the back of her neck, kneading the tense muscles.

"I know."

More tears spilled.

"But they weren't real, were they?"

He swallowed thickly, holding her gaze.

"No."

She nodded with resignation.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?"

"You aren't crazy." His voice brokered no room for argument. "You deny this part of yourself so strongly you've turned it into a separate entity altogether."

She blinked, spine going rigid. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her in.

"The person you always think is following you, watching you… it's you, Hermione."

He brushed the hair from her face, touch gentle, eyes hard as diamond points.

"It's always been you."

* * *

**Friday, August 28, 1998**

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, head resting against the window as she gazed upon the rushing landscape. The train terminal came into view ahead. People started shifting, grabbing purses and bags, tucking away electronics and magazines.

She sighed deeply, thumbing the bloodstained photograph in her hand. The edges of the paper were well worn after hours spent handling it through successive anxiety attacks.

She'd started and stopped talking herself out of the trip home over a dozen times in half as many hours. She debated abandoning the journey every time the train made a stop.

And yet here she was.

Southern New Hampshire.

Back to where it all began.

She set her jaw as the train pulled into the station, the engine screaming loudly.

And where it all would end.

.   .   .

Hermione paused outside the terminal, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, debating whether to take a cab or the bus.

She bit her lip, studying the metro map when she heard a chilling sound…

"Hermoninny?"

Her spine went stiff as a board as she spun around, every muscle tensed.

The owner of the voice smiled broadly, waving from the other end of the platform.

She blinked slowly, dread pooling in her stomach.

_Oh god. No. No no no no no no no-_

"Hermoninny!"

He waited for a group of people to pass before jogging over, face lit with excitement.

"Hi!" He came to a stop before her, tail wagging between his legs.

_He really is a giant German shepherd…_

"What are you doing here?"

Her mouth went dry.

"Oh… I…" she wet her lips to no avail. "I'm just getting back from… from…"

"Yale?"

She blinked again.

"Yes. Yale."

He nodded. "I thought classes start next week?"

She shifted awkwardly. "They do. I just…" her mind rifled through excuses rapidly. "Aunt Mia was having a hard time with me gone, and I thought it would be a nice surprise to spend one more weekend with her."

His smile widened. "You're a very considerate niece."

Her chest caved in, crushing her heart.

"I don't know about that."

He laughed. "You are. Always thinking of other people." He flushed lightly, glancing away. "I was just dropping off a friend. I'm about to head back to campus." His eyes found hers once more, bright and hopeful. "Can I give you a ride?"

She stepped back.

"That's alright, I was going to take the bus-"

"Don't be silly." His eyes roamed her face. "Your aunt lives ten miles from the fraternity. It's no trouble."

She shifted on her feet.

_Don't do it._

_Please._

_Not him._

But it was too late.

The Other had been awoken.

She slipped a hand over Hermione's eyes, another over her mouth, pulling her back into the darkness.

Stepping forward in her place.

"That's so sweet, Victor."

A smile slowly unfurled across her face, causing his blush to deepen.

"I'd love a ride."


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my doves. Thank you so much for all your support, your words mean so much to me ❤︎
> 
> I hope you enjoy the final installment to this sordid little tale...

**peccatophilia (n.)** a love for sinning

Part Three  
Ruination

**Monday, September 11, 1995**

Hermione held her breath as the phone rang, the receiver pinned between her ear and shoulder as her hands twisted the plastic cord.

She counted down in her head.

Three.

Two.

One…

"Tom speaking."

She released the air from her lungs in a woosh.

"You always answer on the third ring," she whispered, eyes closing.

A brief pause.

"What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, toes curling inside her worn sneakers as she leaned into the plexiglass.

"Nothing's-"

"Don't lie to me. I can hear you fidgeting through the phone."

Her eyes snapped open, feet and hands flexing, joints popping.

"I just… it's been…" she swallowed thickly, nails picking at the grooves in the cord. "Really hard."

She heard the static muffle of his sigh.

"Hermione, I spoke with you on Saturday and everything was fine."

"I know. But today-" she stopped short, throat tightening.

"Today what?"

"Neverm-"

"What happened today, Hermione?"

Every time he said her name an electrical current raced up her spine, making her light-headed.

"The police were at the school."

She watched kids ride by on their shiny bikes, laughing and shouting. A woman walked her miniature terrier in the distance, an elderly man watered his lawn with a hose, waving to the stranger as she passed.

Hermione saw it all through the smudged glass of the phone booth as though staring into a television screen. The outside world was pretend, scripted, a vibrant ruse she could observe but never be a part of.

"Alright." His voice was calm, but tight. "And did they speak to you?"

"Not directly, no."

"Then what's the problem?"

She set her jaw, eyes narrowing at her own reflection in the wall.

"The _problem_ is the police are investigating Cormac's death, Tom-"

"His _disappearance_ , Hermione. And don't say his name over the fucking phone."

Her muscles tensed. "I-"

"We talked about this. At length. We knew the police would get involved at a certain point. But there's nothing for them to-" he sighed. "Shit. Hang on."

There was a muffled sound and then absolute silence, followed by a loud click.

"Where are you going?" Someone asked on his end, voice distant.

"I'll be back in a few."

"That your girl?"

"No, my sister."

She blinked, gaze still locked with her pale reflection. A moment later she heard his breath through the receiver.

"I stepped out of the dorm. We shouldn't be talking about this over the phone."

_No, my sister._

His response rang through her mind on repeat. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the echo.

"They sent a letter home."

"What?"

"The school. To inform families that a recent grad went missing and the police are talking to students. It urged parents to speak with their kids, ask questions." She wet her lips. "Learn about their social lives. Their interests."

He released a hissing breath. She could practically hear him rubbing his eyes.

"Are you snapping on me, Hermione? Is this some sort of misplaced guilt talking?"

"I wouldn't call it misplaced."

"How many times have we- Jesus, we can't talk about this- are you at home?"

"I'm on a payphone."

"Good. Now listen-"

"It's not guilt, Tom."

A beat.

"Hermione-"

"It's not guilt." She blinked rapidly, tears brimming, the outside world distorting.

"It's starting again," she whispered, dropping her forehead against the glass.

She heard him swallow.

"It's been three weeks."

She wiped away the tears before they had a chance to fall. "Twenty-three days. I'm well aware."

"Please tell me you haven't written it down."

"You're the one who keeps a diary."

"I can assure you it's filled with far more trivial anecdotes."

"I haven't written it down, Tom! I keep track in my head, alright? Every single day I replay it over and over again, I-"

"Goddammit, Hermione."

The tears started to trek down her cheeks.

"I'm not- I can't-" she lifted her head and brought to thumping into the glass wall, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't make it stop, Tom! I don't know how!"

"Calm down- what's that noise?"

She shook her head.

"Are you hurting yourself, Hermione?"

"No."

"Stop doing whatever the fuck you're doing." A deep sigh. "I'm coming home."

Her eyes snapped open. "What? No!"

"You're going to do something, I can hear it in your voice-"

"I promise I won't do anything. You can't come back, you just started the semester-"

"I'll start again in January."

"How will you explain it to your dad? My mom?"

"I don't give two shits what-"

"We both know you care about what your father thinks of you, Tom, more than anything."

The silence that followed was truly sinister.

"I'm going to let that comment slide since I know you're not in your right mind."

Her responding laugh was acidic.

"That's the understatement of the century."

"I'm coming home for Thanksgiving. Can you make it until then?"

She bit her lip.

"Hermione?"

"Yes."

"I'm serious. You have to wait for me. If you try and do another one alone you're going to get caught."

"I won't do it without you."

"Promise me."

She wiped miserably at her wet cheeks.

"I promise."

* * *

**Wednesday, November 15, 1995**

Hermione awoke with a gasp.

She jolted upright in bed, covered by a thin sheen of sweat, heart galloping in her chest, making her entire body throb.

She blinked in the dim light, dawn spilling through her sheer curtains, the sun slow to rise.

Her mouth was dry as a desert, head filled with cotton. She drew a hand over her face, slowly regaining her bearings-

And reared back, body slamming into the brass headboard.

She held her hand before her face, arm trembling, eyes wide.

Her skin was coated in dried blood.

_No…_

She frantically kicked away her covers, scrambling from the bed-

Only to topple to the floor in a heap, eyes transfixed by her dirt marred sheets.

Her bare feet were stained black on the bottoms, shins streaked with blood and dirt.

_Oh god._

_Oh god..._

She bolted across the room, hovering at the door, straining to listen for any movement in the hall.

She wet her lips anxiously, muscles tensed.

All was silent from the master bedroom.

She had time yet.

Hermione darted into the hall in her underwear and sleep shirt, walking on tiptoes as she slid into the bathroom, promptly locking the door behind her.

She turned the shower on, burning hot, steam quickly rising, and braced either hand against the vanity counter.

_I'll wash it away._

_Everything will be okay._

_It'll be like it never happened…_

_Tom doesn't have to know._

She closed her eyes, head dropping.

No.

He'd read the truth all over her face.

He always did.

She gazed up, finally facing the inescapable reality of her reflection.

And gasped, rearing back.

A bloody handprint glowed brightly on her left cheek, fingers outlined perfectly.

She fought back tears as she turned the sink on full blast and gathered a pool of water in her palms, splashing her skin and scrubbing her flesh raw.

Blood and dirt stained the water brown, stray leaves falling from her tangled hair and swirling down the drain.

She watched the evidence disappear with numb detachment, staring blankly at the water until it finally began to run clear.

 _What_ the hell happened _?_

She didn't know what was worse, the hunger or the sporadic amnesia that followed.

Her hands curled over the lip of the counter, knuckles turning white, arms shaking.

_He's right._

_I'm going to get caught._

_I don't even know if I covered my tracks…_

The tears finally escaped as she met her gaze in the mirror once more.

The image she painted was truly menacing.

For it was her true self.

A beast in human skin.

It held her steady in its sights, ever watchful. Ever knowing.

She started to tremble anew, haunted by its feral gaze, wicked teeth, slitted pupils.

But what terrified her the most was the slow, predatory smile that spread across its face.

The steam cloud rose, swallowing them both.

.   .   .

Hermione fumbled with the blow dryer when the pounding started.

A heavy-handed knock at the front door, echoing its ways up the stairs and down the hall.

She blinked, shutting off the dryer and tossing it to her bed, flipping the curtain of damp hair out of her face.

She opened her door as the banging grew in persistence and volume.

Oh no.

This was it.

She'd fucked it all up. Left a trail of breadcrumbs straight to her door.

She gazed upon the door to the master bedroom, still closed, and hesitated on the other side, hands hovering in mid-air, heart in her throat as the knocking from downstairs grew louder and louder until it echoed her frantic pulse.

She stepped away, running down the hall, taking the stairs so quickly she had to cling to the railing to keep her balance.

Maybe it was better they were still asleep. She couldn't bear for her mother to watch her arrest, to witness the devastation in those familiar, comforting eyes as they announced the charges.

The moment she would realize her beloved daughter was truly a monster.

Hermione glanced down at her outfit.

_I'm going to be booked for homicide in sweatpants and a paint-splattered race t-shirt._

She shook her head at the obscene thought.

And then she caught sight of a black sedan through the front window, parked along the side of the house. A dark omen.

_They're going to drag me away in front of all the neighbors… everyone getting up for work… it'll be on the evening news…_

She walked to the front door in a daze, mind and body numb to the horror of her morning, this final turn of events exceeding the limits of her rational mind.

Hermione opened the front door.

A man stood before her, dressed in jeans and a dark coat, clenched fist lowering as the barrier disappeared.

His brown eyes flickered down, catching her gaze.

"Hello. Are you Ms. Granger?"

She blinked, swaying on her bare feet.

"Y-yes."

He nodded, expression drawn.

"My name is Sirius Black. I'm a Detective for Cheshire County. May I come in?"

She staggered back in confusion, dread rising.

"Come in?"

He tipped his head, long dark hair falling in front his eyes. He swept it back. "Yes. To talk."

She gave a jilted nod.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

"Of course. Please come in."

No reason to abandon all manners simply because she was trapped in a waking nightmare.

She held her breath as he stepped inside, towering above her as she clung to the door, caught between closing it and bolting for freedom.

And suddenly, Tom's voice whispered in her ear, low and commanding.

_Shut the door, Hermione._

_Stop acting like a damn criminal. You're innocent until proven guilty._

She released a slow breath, closing the door with a deafening click, hands twisting the bottom hem of her shirt as she turned to face the stranger.

"Did…" her voice was too high, like nails on a chalkboard. She cleared her throat. "Did you want to talk to my mom? I can wake her up."

And yet she silently begged for him to leave the woman out of this spectacle.

_I'm a minor. He has to involve a parent..._

But upon her offer the Detective sighed deeply, running a hand over his face,

"Hermione- may I call you Hermione?"

She nodded mutely.

"I'm afraid I have terrible news to share with you. We should sit."

Her heart lurched.

Maybe this wasn't about last night.

But then what could it...

She took a quick step forward, fists clenched at her sides as a terrible thought took root deep within her mind, smoky tendrils wrapping around her lungs and expelling all the air.

"Is Tom okay?"

The Detective blinked. "Tom?"

"My broth-" she shook her head. "My step brother."

The man nodded. "He's fine, Hermione. But-"

"I should get my mother."

And yet she made no movement towards the stairs, some distant echo in the empty chamber of her heart telling her there was no point.

"Hermione, I'm afraid that your mother's vehicle was found early this morning off Bromley."

He took a careful step towards her, placing a large hand on her shoulder. "There was an accident."

He held her gaze. A distant buzzing started in her head, growing louder and louder until her entire body vibrated with it.

"Two people were discovered trapped inside."

His words started to fade, as did his face, white seeping into the corners of her vision.

"I'm so sorry, kid. Your mother was found dead."

He caught her before she hit the floor. She was unconscious before his arms even encased her.

* * *

**Friday, August 28, 1998**

"Thank you again, Victor."

He smiled, gaze carefully averted forward, cheeks flushed.

"Of course, Hermoninny."

She laughed lightly, tinkling bells dancing along the dashboard.

"I love the way you say my name."

He swallowed, hands gripping the wheel tighter.

"I… that's…"

She laughed anew, leaning closer to him.

"You don't have to be so nervous around me, Victor." Her eyes and teeth gleamed in the street lights. "I won't bite."

His head turned, eyes meeting hers at long last.

"Hermoninny..."

She tilted her head.

"Are you…" he wet his lips. "Is everything okay?"

She drew back, jaw ticking before smiling brightly.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

His eyes slowly roamed her face.

"You just seem… different."

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails threatening to break the skin of her palms.

And then his phone rang, the melody chiming loudly through the confined space, cutting through the tension like a whip.

"Oh, do you mind?"

"Not at all."

She gazed ahead as he fumbled with the bit of plastic.

"Hello?"

She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes meeting her reflection in the side view mirror.

The creature staring back at her screamed in silent desperation, fists beating the glass, eyes wide and pleading.

Pathetic.

She looked away, sparing the apparition no mind.

"Okay, I'll see you later then. Bye."

He hung up the phone, slipping it back into the center console.

She licked her lips, his masculine scent thick in the air, making her burn with hunger.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything?"

"Oh, no, not at all. That was just Oliver."

"Reminding you to bring home some milk?" She teased, tone light as she covertly slid a hand towards her bag in the floorboard.

Victor smirked. "More like vodka."

"Vodka? Please tell me he doesn't mix it with his morning cereal."

Their shared laughter rang through the car. She slipped her fingers into the opening of the fabric, feeling around.

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Her palm curved around the handle of the knife.

"But it's for the party. He wants me to make a liquor run before heading over."

She blinked.

And released the blade, sitting back in the seat and folding her hands atop her lap.

"Party?"

"Hm?" He glanced over as they stopped at a red light. "Oh, yeah, the fraternity is having a start of term celebration. Just an excuse to play beer pong and get wasted."

She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, tracing the points.

"Sounds like fun."

He raised a heavy brow. "Really?"

She nodded.

He cleared his throat, adjusting in his seat and glancing forward as the light turned green.

"Would you… want to swing by?"

She nodded again, bouncing in excitement. "Yes!"

He laughed, eyes sparkling like a sky full of stars. "Okay. We can make a quick appearance and then I'll take you to your aunt's."

She placed a hand on his bicep.

"You're such a great guy, Victor."

The smile that followed transformed his face into something truly spectacular.

She drew in a breath, victory sweet on her tongue, and settled back once more, sparing one last glance at her doppelganger in the mirror.

The girl tore desperately at the black vines wrapping her limbs, gagging her mouth, covering her eyes.

She watched as the weeds pulled the fragile creature under until soon, Hermione disappeared from sight entirely.

.   .   .

Victor held open the door for her like the true gentleman he was. She pressed lightly against him as she slid inside. His breath stuttered as he met her heated gaze.

She smirked, stepping past him and glancing around the interior of the fraternity house.

The music was blaring, people crowding both floors, broken streamers hanging from the banister and landing.

He squeezed her elbow, leaning down to speak directly into her ear, still barely audible over the thrumming chaos.

"Can I get you a drink?"

She nodded eagerly, earning another deep laugh before he cut a path towards the kitchen.

She watched him turn the corner, disappearing from sight.

Her expression fell like a dead weight.

She examined her nails with fleeting disinterest, rolling her shoulders back, tension mounting.

Bored. Restless.

A cacophony of screams drew her gaze. She abandoned the foyer and made her way into the living room, carefully sidestepping a beer can pyramid, and came to a stop behind the couch, watching a lively game of beer pong take place a few feet ahead. Drunken players and spectators shouted and cheered as though watching a true Olympic match.

Her eyes gleamed, chest burning with searing anticipation.

"Come on, babe," a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

She spun around, eyes narrowing at the sight of Oliver leading a pretty blonde by the hand into the dark hallway.

She tipped her head, following their progression until they rounded the corner.

Interesting.

Wasn't he supposed to be dating Hermione's annoying friend?

She licked her bottom lip, pulse thrumming, and started to step forward-

_Don't!_

She reared back, limbs jerking.

Fuck.

_Please, don't!_

She rolled her eyes.

**Would you rather it be your Russian lapdog then?**

_Please don't hurt anyone._

**You're boring me.**

She pushed the reedy voice from her mind, heading for the hallway-

"Here you are!"

She ground her teeth with a scowl, then spun around with a smile.

"Here I am."

Victor handed her a blue solo cup. She peered at the red liquid within.

"I remember you telling me you don't like beer."

She took a tentative sip. Vodka cranberry.

How cute.

She met his gaze over the rim as she drained the plastic container in one sitting. He blinked.

"Um… good job."

She laughed, wiping the corners of her mouth delicately.

"Sorry. That was probably really unattractive."

"No, not at all! I've just never seen you-" he shook his head. "I'm just not used to seeing you at parties. But if anything I'm impressed."

She set the cup next to the beer pyramid. A torrent of cheers rang out from the game table. Victor laughed even as he cringed at the sound. She bit her lip, peeking up through dark lashes.

"It's so loud in here!"

_No, please no…_

He nodded, leaning closer. "I know, I have a feeling we'll be hit with a noise complaint before the night is through!"

She licked her lips, relishing the moment his eyes flickered down and tracked the motion.

_Please don't do this!_

"Do you want to go outside and talk?"

His pupils expanded.

"Um… yeah. Yeah!" He smiled and then blushed as she reached forward and grabbed his hand.

He stared at their interlaced fingers for a long beat before swallowing, eyes reflecting every light in the room as he glanced back up.

"Let's take a walk around the block."

She inhaled slowly, a purr rumbling through her chest.

"I'd like that."

She allowed him to lead her from the room, the chaos of the party fading slowly at their backs, the desperate screaming in her head intensifying with every step.

* * *

**Monday, December 4, 1995**

Tom walked down the steps while trying to finish the page he was reading.

"Coming!"

Fucking hell.

He rolled his eyes, using his finger as a bookmark as he turned the knob.

"What did you forg-"

The face awaiting him on the other side of the door was not his sister.

The man stood at the same impressive height as Tom, hands tucked into his coat pockets as he turned to face him.

"Good afternoon, Tom."

His jaw ticked.

"Detective Black."

The man smiled.

"Do you have a few minutes to chat?"

"Amelia isn't here."

"That's alright, I came to speak with you and Hermione, mostly the latter."

His hand curled around the edge of the door, nails gouging into the wood.

"They're running errands."

"Ah. Any idea when they'll be back?"

He fought to maintain his casual expression.

"What do you want with my sister?"

Black tipped his head, eyes slowly roaming Tom's face, gaze far too knowing for his comfort.

"It's interesting you think of her as your sister. Your parents were married for such a short time."

His muscles tensed.

"They dated before that."

"Less than a year, right?"

"You seem to be the expert."

Black chuckled. "I don't mean any offense. I think it's great the two of you are so close. My brother and I are at constant odds and I've known the bastard my whole life."

"Perhaps that's why then."

Black smiled. "You're probably right. So do you know when the girls will be getting back?"

Tom shook his head, "They'll probably be gone most the day. Amelia is trying to distract Hermione, get her out of the house."

Black nodded. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you need a distraction?"

Tom took a steadying breath.

"Amelia isn't my aunt."

"Do you have any other family?"

He glanced at the black sedan, spine rigid.

"Maybe you should come back at another time, Detective."

Black released a long sigh, the cloud of breath appearing in a white cloud against the cold air.

"Actually, there's something else I'd like to discuss with you. Do you mind if I come inside for a few minutes?"

They held each other's stare.

Tom smiled.

"Of course not. Please, come in."

He stood aside as Black kicked the snow from his boots and crossed the threshold.

"I see there's a for sale sign in the yard."

Tom nodded, closing the door, hand hovering over the lock. He lowered his arm, backing away.

"It went on the market last week."

"Hermione's going to go live with her aunt then?"

"That's the plan. At least until she graduates."

"And what about you? Taking time off this semester?"

Tom crossed his arms. "I'm needed here. What did you want to discuss?"

Black smirked. "Right to the point. You remind me of my nephew. He's about your age. Course he doesn't have the grades you do. More of an athlete."

"That's really interesting."

Black chuckled. "Alright, I'll get to it then. We've uncovered some additional information regarding the accident."

His hand clenched around the book, the cover groaning beneath his strong fingers.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, based on the tire tracks on the road it appears the car didn't skid after all. Rather, the wheel was deliberately turned."

"You're saying my father drove into a tree on purpose?"

"Of course not. But he steered the car off the road on purpose. It's possible he swerved to miss something and overcompensated."

Tom blinked. "It was late. Maybe there was a deer."

The Detective nodded. "That was my first thought as well. Especially considering the car's close proximity to the woods. But then another piece of evidence was brought to light."

His heartbeat reverberated through every limb.

"After further analysis, the investigators determined the human tracks we discovered leading to and from the vehicle were fresh. Someone walked to the passenger side and then around to the driver side before heading into the treeline."

Chaos exploded inside his head.

And yet one thought rose to the very forefront of the storm with stunning clarity.

_Fuck._

"Maybe someone heard the crash and checked to see if they were alive." He ran his tongue across his bottom lip. "They got scared and ran off after finding them dead."

Black tipped his head, eyes unblinking.

"Very plausible. I guess we won't know for certain unless the witness comes forward." A pause. "But the existence of the footprints tells us one thing."

Tom's jaw ticked.

"The fire didn't ignite right away, as originally suspected. Otherwise, the concerned citizen wouldn't have been able to get that close to both sides of the vehicle."

He took a steadying breath, fighting the urge to cross his arms. "Are you implying this person set the fire after the crash?"

"That's a rather morbid thought. But also plausible. It's also possible the fire started on its own naturally. But the front impact wouldn't have hit the gas tank, and there's no evidence of the electrical panel igniting."

Tom blinked.

"I'm sorry… what are you saying?"

"Nothing yet. I'm just trying to gather all the information possible so I can piece this puzzle together."

His chest slowly cracked down the center, each rib breaking with a deafening snap.

"I don't understand… why is all this just coming to light? They've been dead for nearly three weeks."

Black tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Tom instantly berated himself for his flippant tone.

_Don't let the mask slip now._

_Not when she needs you the most._

"What I mean is..." his voice softened, shoulders relaxing. "It's been so difficult these last few weeks… reopening these wounds is painful. I don't want to upset Hermione anymore than she already is."

The silence that followed was a crushing weight.

Until finally Black ended his misery.

"I can only imagine. And I certainly don't want to cause your… _sister_ … any more pain."

Black tucked his hands into his coat pockets.

"At first glance, this was considered an open and shut accidental death, but in light of my missing person case I had cause to revisit the night of-"

"Missing person?" Tom fought to remain still, body thrumming.

Black nodded. "I imagine you've been a bit too preoccupied to watch the news… a young woman's been missing since the night of the crash. I revisited your parents' case to see if there was any possible connection. That's when all the other details started to stand out to me."

Tom shook his head, the electrical storm firing rapidly in his head. "Wait… who's missing?"

"A local girl. Marietta Edgecombe. A high school student from Hermione's year. That's one of the things I wanted to ask her about, see if she may have any idea where-"

"They weren't friends."

Black blinked. "Excuse me?"

Tom's heart skipped a beat.

Fuck again.

He scrambled to correct his mistake.

"That is, I know most of Hermione's friends, and she's never mentioned any Marietta. I doubt she'll be of much help."

Black's keen eyes scanned his face carefully.

"I see… well, I'd still like to speak with her, just to cover my bases. Also, I'm interested to know if Hermione has any idea why Jean and Thomas were driving around the back roads at two in the morning on a Wednesday."

Tom squeezed the book so hard the spine bent.

"Hermione and I have been trying to figure that out ourselves."

Black slid his hands back into pockets.

"I know this must be a very painful time for you both. I'm sorry to dredge it all up again. But if there's even the slightest chance this wasn't an accident, I know I'd want to know, if it were my parents."

Tom dug deep, gathering every ounce of strength to maintain his resolve, knuckles turning white around the edge of the book.

"Yes. Absolutely. I'm glad you're looking into it." His broken ribs stabbed inward, rupturing his heart. "I hope you'll keep us apprised of the investigation. The thought that this may have been an act of foul play is unconscionable."

Black nodded. "I'll be sure to do that."

And then the corner of his mouth lifted.

He brought a hand to his face, wiping the smirk away.

"Sorry, I'm just thinking of Harry."

Tom raised a dark brow.

"The nephew I mentioned earlier," Black quickly continued, shaking his head ruefully. "Well, technically he's my godson. I just realized the two of you are nothing alike. I don't think he'd even be able to pronounce the word unconscionable little less use it in a sentence."

Tom's nose twitched.

"I don't mean it as an insult. You're obviously a highly intelligent young man." His dark eyes gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the windows. "Your sister's quite brilliant herself if I remember correctly."

Tom's jaw clenched, the beast raising its head, stirring within his broken chest.

_Keep it together._

"She is. It's always been her dream to go to Yale."

Black tilted his head. "Is that so?" He wet his lips, tone light. "I forget, where do you go to school again?"

Tom's eyes narrowed.

_We're not playing this game._

"I'm sorry you missed Hermione." He smiled, teeth gleaming. "But I'll be sure to tell her you stopped by. She'll give you a call."

Black returned the smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Excellent. Thank you, Tom. Well, I suppose I'll leave you to your afternoon."

He started to make his way for the door, pace slow and idle, making Tom's blood boil with every lagging step.

"You know, it's not often you see blended families develop such a tight bond. I think it's great you and Hermione care about each other so much."

"So you've said."

Black laughed shortly. "Apologies, I'm starting to repeat myself in my old age."

And then his expression transformed once more, eyes hardening to diamond points as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Were you as close with Jean?"

Tom blinked.

He scrambled through his mental rolodex, trying to determine which response the Detective was after.

He went with something neutral.

"I cared for Jean, yes."

It was an exercise in self-control to remain still and calm as the man studied his face with careful precision, smiling like a useless mongrel all the while.

"It's good you have each other." He turned to face the exit once more. "You and Hermione, that is. Neither of you has to experience this alone. You understand one another."

Tom tensed, something hidden beneath the surface of the words, just out of reach.

Black opened the door, pausing at the threshold and turning around once more, a gust of unforgiving winter air blowing past.

"I promise you, Tom, if someone is responsible for what happened to your parents, I _will_ find them."

The world turned to smoke, the floor disintegrated to ash, leaving Tom suspended over a lake of fire.

"I appreciate that, Detective."

Black flashed another grin.

"I'll be in touch."

He exited with easy grace, leaving nothing but bitter cold in his wake.

Tom stared at the closed door for another thirty seconds, trembling with the force of his pent emotion.

And then the sedan drove away.

The chain snapped.

His flesh tore away in shreds as the enraged beast clawed its way free, tipping its head back with a bloodthirsty roar.

"Fuck!"

* * *

**Friday, August 28, 1998**

"So, are you nervous about school?"

She glanced around the darkened road, shrugging lightly, their joined hands gently swaying between them as they walked between the glow of street lamps.

"Not especially."

Victor laughed, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" he snuck a sideways glance at her, smile bright. "I've never met anyone like you."

She tipped her head, a smirk curving her lips.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're just… brilliant. And poised. And confident." His cheeks pinkened as he averted his gaze to the pavement. "But you're also humble and… genuine. It's rare to find such a combination."

Her smile became strained.

Hermione scratched relentlessly at the walls, fingers bloody, nail beds shredded.

**Will you shut the hell up already?**

**I never get to have any fun.**

Victor snuck another sideways glance at her. "Did I go too far? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She shook her head, the nauseating voice gaining volume, making her dizzy.

_Please, don't kill him!_

She sighed.

His brows drew in. "Is everything-"

Footsteps sounded behind them, an electrical current raced up her spine, the telltale feeling of being watched making the fine hairs along her neck and arms stand on end.

She spun around.

And breathed a sigh of relief.

Low laughter rolled upon them, followed by the uneven scuff of shoes on pavement.

Victor followed her fixated gaze, glancing over his shoulder as well.

"It's just Ollie."

She licked her lips.

"Who's he with?"

"Fleur."

"I thought he was dating Lavender?"

Victor scratched the back of his neck, eyes downcast as he gazed ahead once more.

"Well… Ollie is…" he sighed in resignation, arm dropping. "He can be a bit of a player."

Flames ignited in the pit of her stomach, winding their way up her esophagus, expelling in a cloud of smoke.

"Is he now?"

"I don't agree with it," he said quickly, squeezing her hand. "But I don't think he's a bad guy overall… just... stupid." He laughed awkwardly. "I told him to be honest with Lavender before things went any further."

She nodded. "Explains why I found her crying in the bathroom that day."

His expression melted into genuine concern. "Is she okay?"

Her smile was authentic once more, threatening to split her face in half.

"She will be."

_Don't._

**I thought this would please you.**

_Please me?_

**He's a disgusting pig who made your friend cry. Are you saying you _don't_ want me to kill him?**

_Yes! That's exactly what I'm saying!_

She shook her head.

**I just don't understand you.**

_The feeling is mutual, I assure you. I don't want us to hurt_ anyone _._

**We've established that. But someone has to die tonight, Hermione, or things are going to get even worse for you.**

_I don't care what happens to me._

**What about Tom?**

Silence rang in her head.

_You wouldn't..._

**Wouldn't I?**

_You care about him, too. You won't hurt him._

**You mistake my tolerance for affection.**

Her eyes narrowed.

**He holds us back.**

"Hermoninny?"

Her gaze snapped up.

Victor smirked. "Looks like you were deep in thought."

She laughed, blushing prettily.

"I sometimes have conversations with myself. Do you ever do that?"

He laughed. "All the time. I thought I was the only one. Makes me feel a bit crazy sometimes."

Her tongue traced the backs of her teeth. "I know exactly what you mean."

The hand not holding his tightened to a fist.

**Decide now, Hermione.**

**Who's it going to be?**

_I can't._

**Then I'll decide for you.**

She drew into his side, batting her lashes. "Victor…"

He swallowed thickly at her raspy tone.

She licked her lips. "Let's-"

_Oliver!_

The voice was desperate, defeated.

_Oliver… just… please leave Victor alone..._

"Yes, Hermoninny?"

She bounced on her heels, body energized. "It's getting cold out here. Let's head back to the party."

His shoulders deflated slightly but he nodded all the same. "Oh. Alright."

He started to redirect them to the house.

"Actually," she reached into her back pocket, withdrawing her phone. "You go ahead, I'll meet you inside in a few minutes. I need to make a quick call."

He nodded, flashing a handsome grin. "I'll see you soon."

She winked, then watched him head back up the street, adrenaline surging through every pore.

.   .   .

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

"Crap, I just stepped in something slimy!"

"Uhn!"

"Oliver, fuck, move back, I'm standing in bird shit or something."

"What?"

"I said I'm standing in goddamn bird shit, now move!"

"Relax. It's probably just deer shit."

" _What_? That's even more disgusting! Get off me!"

"Calm down, babe, I'm joking!"

"Well, I'm not! So- wait, what was that?"

"Lift your leg-"

"Oliver, I heard something!"

He sighed, shaking his head. "We're in the woods, it's probably just an animal."

"Like a bear?"

"No, like a rabbit or a mouse-"

"I hate mice!"

"Fuck!" He continued to rut against her, hands bracing the tree at her back.

"There it is again!" Her gaze widened over his shoulder, reflecting the meager moonlight.

"Hang on, I'm so close!"

"I don't give a fuck! I think there's someone out here!"

"Shh, hang on-"

"Oliver!"

She shoved him square in the chest, causing him to stagger back, pants around his ankles, losing his balance and toppling to the wet leaves and dirt.

"Shit!" He glared up, hands covering his prick. "What the hell is your problem?"

She pulled her underwear up, pushing her skirt down. "I _told_ you I think someone's watching us, asshole! I'm not going to put on a free show for one of your pervert friends!"

"There's no one out here!" He spread his arms to either side as if furthering his point. She rolled her eyes, straightening her bra.

"If I find out someone was recording us I'm going to cut off your balls myself."

She pushed away from the tree and started up the hill, arms crossed.

"Fleur! Wait, babe! I'm sorry!" He scrambled to pull up his pants. "Fuck!"

By the time he stumbled to his feet, she was already out of sight. He kicked at a clump of dirt, stubbing his toe on a hidden rock in the process.

"Goddammit!" He reared back with a deep grimace, eyes squeezed tight.

"Poor baby."

His eyes snapped open as he spun around.

"Jesus, Granger! You scared the shit out of me!"

He clutched his chest. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Watching you strike out it would seem."

She leaned against a nearby tree, head tilted, eyes gleaming from the shadows.

He blinked, then laughed awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

"Oh, fuck, you saw that huh?"

She hummed low in her throat, taking a slow step forward.

"I didn't- I mean, I know it- it wasn't-"

"Let me guess, it wasn't what it looked like?"

His brows drew together as she continued her casual approach, hands clasped behind her back.

"Um…" he blinked several times, eyes roaming her figure unsurely.

"Because what it _looked_ like..." she came to a stop just before him, lifting an arm and placing her hand in the center of his chest. "Was you fucking Fleur's brains out." She tipped her head, fingers running a trail down his sternum. "Until she had to go and ruin a good show."

He swallowed thickly, eyes widening. "What?" He gazed at her lingering hand, making no attempt to move away. "Granger, are you drunk?"

She tipped her head and smiled.

"Why do you ask that, Ollie?"

He shook his head slowly, expression dumbfounded. "I don't know. You just seem… different."

"Different good or different bad?"

Her hand continued its southward descent, lingering at the waist of his jeans. Her fingertips grazed the skin of his abdomen beneath his shirt, causing him to inhale sharply.

"Look," he swallowed audibly. "I don't know what you're on, but Vic will kill me if I touch you, so-"

"What about if _I_ touch _you_?" Her fingers dipped inside his jeans. His entire body shuddered but his feet remained frozen, eyes fixated on her hand.

"Granger…" He leaned in, gasping into her hair. "I'm not gonna lie, I've fantasized about this more times than I can count…but my best mate is crazy about you. I… I can't."

She tipped her head up, their noses bumping, whispering across his lips.

"What if I wasn't Granger?"

He blinked. "What?"

She licked her lips, tongue grazing his mouth, causing him to shudder anew.

"What if I wasn't Hermione?"

He raised a brow. "You mean, like roleplaying?"

She smiled. "Sure. Like role-playing."

"I don't… unh!" He gasped as she slid her entire hand into his pants, palm grazing his erection.

"Look at that. Still hard as a rock. Fleur didn't take care of you." She aligned their mouths, sharing his ragged breath. "What a cunt."

He started to pant, pupils dilating.

"I've never seen this side of you, Herm-"

"Nah ah ah…" she raised her other hand, placing a finger to his lips. "I'm not Hermione, remember?"

He nodded quickly, grinding his palm into her pelvis, causing her hand to smash against his erection. She traced his lips with her fingertip, smiling when he sucked the appendage into his mouth, biting lightly.

"Good boy."

He moaned as she gripped him through his boxers and began languid stroking motions.

"Fuck!" He hissed, eyes closing. "You're so fucking hot, babe."

Lightning flashed in her eyes.

"I'm _not_ your babe."

He tipped his head back, lost to sensation, her words falling on deaf ears.

"I'm not your baby. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not your slut." She gripped him harder, causing him to buck into her.

She lowered the hand from his face, bringing it behind her back.

"I'm not your punching bag. I'm not your perfect daughter."

His brows drew together, eyes snapping open once more.

"Wait, what-"

"I'm not your _fucking_ little sister."

She withdrew the knife from her waistband, keeping it low at her thing.

"Whoa!" Oliver tried to back up but she kept him in place with a lethal grip on his cock. He gasped in pain.

"Fuck, Granger! What the hell is the matter with you? Let me go you, crazy bitch!"

She licked her lips, eyes glowing in the darkness, fangs fully descended. His gaze widened, realization dawning a moment too late.

"Fu-!" He collapsed in a heap the moment the blade entered his chest.

She was an expert marksman when it came to stationary targets.

The knife cleanly severed his pulmonary artery.

He writhed in the dead leaves, t-shirt slowly turning black, ink spilling from the wound in a flood. He tried to form words but only broken sounds emitted, mouth filling with crimson, spitting streams of it across his cheeks and down his neck.

His hands scrambled with the hilt of the blade, gripping it weakly, eyes blinking at the treetops, feet sliding aimlessly along the earth.

She slowly lowered to her knees, drawing her hair over one shoulder to lean above him, meeting his eyes.

And smiled.

"It's alright, Ollie. It'll all be over very soon. You'll fade into unconsciousness in the next minute."

She wrapped her hand around his, gripping the handle of the knife together.

"If I pull this out it'll be over even faster." She tipped her head, eyes sparkling. "Is that what you want?"

He opened his mouth, a river of blood oozing out. He choked on it, coughing, gagging.

"If I had gone for the aorta it would already be over." She brushed her fingers through his hair soothingly, still gripping the blade with her other hand.

"I'm pressed for time. I don't have any of my tools with me. But I still wanted to make it special for you. I wanted to give us this time. This moment."

She gripped his hair at the scalp, forcing his lolling head still, leaving him no escape from her gaze.

"This is our moment, Oliver. This is the most powerful connection two people can ever share. And we're having it right now. Doesn't it just make you feel…"

She released a long breath, shivering, smile brightening. "I'm an academic, not a poet. I wish I had the words to describe it."

She leaned in, kissing his bloodied mouth. "It's like the universe being born inside you. Like death and sex and religion and sin and the end and the beginning of everything that we are or ever will be."

She swallowed thickly, eyes brimming with tears.

"Don't you feel it?"

His gaze lost focus, irises clouding, skin as pale as the moon above.

"You feel it, don't you?" Her voice took on an edge of hysteria. She lifted his head and slammed it into the earth. "Do you feel it?"

His hand went lax beneath hers, breath stuttering to a slow gasp.

She shook her head. "I can't be the only one…"

She released his head and hand, leaning away, sitting back in the leaves and gazing up at the dark treetops.

"Hermione thinks Tom feels it… but he's lying to her."

She sighed, picking at the blood saturated grass with idle fingers.

"She thinks he's like us." She tilted her head, examining a dandelion. "He's not."

She picked it from the roots, holding it before her lips.

"He seeks to control us because he's jealous. He wants what we have. Wants to harness it for himself. Wants to feel what we feel."

She wet her lips.

"But he can't."

She blew. The seeds dispersed into the air in a plume, scattering in the gentle breeze. She tracked their path with her eyes.

A cluster fell on top of the body, saturating in red, pulled beneath the river.

She sighed, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Which is why I'm going to kill him."

The weeping in her head grew louder. She rolled her eyes, jaw clenching.

"I do all of this for you, Hermione." Her eyes narrowed. "For _us_."

But her only response was a tidal wave of blackness. It pulled her beneath its depths, weighting her limbs.

Dragging her back into her cage.

* * *

**Sunday, December 31, 1995**

Tom sighed, shaking his head as he read the alert message on his phone.

Another missed call.

_Pretty little nuisance._

He tucked the phone into his back pocket, averting his gaze forward once more.

"Please! Please don't!" The girl wept, wrists and ankles raw from fighting her restraints for hours on end.

He walked beside her, placing a gentle hand at her neck, tipping her chin up with his thumb.

"Ssh," he whispered, head tilting as he gazed down at her. "Don't be frightened."

She trembled so hard the feet of the chair rattled against the ground, legs uneven.

"I promise, it won't hurt."

She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as she averted her face, pulling free from his touch.

He stepped back, heading towards the utility table at the back of the storage shed.

"I assure you, this isn't my usual M.O. But I'm on a bit of a deadline and needed to improvise."

He reached up, adjusting the overhead lamp to get a better visual of his supplies.

"My choice of prey isn't young women. Reminds me too much of someone I know. Takes the thrill out of it."

He wet his lips, grabbing the roll of duct tape.

"I prefer men. Usually of a larger variety. Makes it more challenging, more exciting to overpower them with my bare hands. I honestly don't see the point in killing with poison, guns, vehicles… If you can't feel the life slipping away between your fingers what's the point?"

He turned on his heel, walking casually to her side. She cringed back, shrieks gaining volume, hands weakly tugging at her binds.

"Alas, this isn't for pleasure." He sighed, meeting her bloodshot gaze. "This is strictly business. I need to lead the police down another road. Away from her."

He reached out a hand, tucking a strand of blood mottled hair behind her ear, causing her to shudder.

"You understand."

She opened her mouth, broken sobs emitting.

He nodded.

"Exactly."

And then he pulled the plastic bag over her head.

She began to thrash, but he easily held her in place as he bit the end of the duct tape free, pulling a long strip off the roll and wrapping it tightly around her neck.

He panted lightly, stepping back as she continued to jerk on the chair, fingers clawing for purchase.

His back pocket buzzed.

"Excuse me, Katie. I'll be right back."

He withdrew the phone once more and headed for the door.

He slid the metal barrier open and stepped outside onto the snow-filled lot, the grey sky clear overhead. He stared at her name flashing across the screen for several moments before pressing the green button and bringing it to his ear.

"Tom speaking."

"I know you have caller ID and I know you've been avoiding me!"

"Hello to you, too, little sister."

"Where are you, Tom?"

"I told you, I'm on campus, decided to move my stuff in early."

"You're lying."

He smiled, leaning against the metal siding and crossing his feet at the ankles.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Her huff of frustration was music to his ears.

"Just…" her voice softened, causing his chest to tighten. "Please tell me what you're doing."

His jaw clenched as he stared out at the empty road and the endless stretch of snow-drenched field.

"I'm enjoying the scenery."

A pause.

"Are you…" He could hear her fidgeting. "Doing... _it_ without me?"

He chuckled, the sound echoing through the hollow cavern of his chest.

"And what if I were?"

"We promised each other we'd only do it together."

His shoulders tensed.

"And have you kept that promise, Hermione?"

Another pause. His heart slowed.

"Of course I have, Tom."

He closed his eyes.

"Tom?" Her voice rose. "Tom?"

"I'm still here."

He rested his clenched fist on his thigh.

"Just… please come home, Tom."

His entire body throbbed.

"School is starting soon."

"We both know you aren't at Yale. I doubt you're even in Connecticut."

He traced the straight edge of his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

"I'm taking care of something important."

"More important than your future?"

He didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

She drew in a deep breath. "We're all each other has left, Tom. Please. Don't leave me."

_I won't._

His body shook.

_And I won't let them take you from me._

"I have to go, Hermione."

"Wait!"

A beat of deafening silence.

"Happy Birthday, Tom."

Dark laughter filled his head.

His eyes closed once more.

"Thanks, little sister."

He pictured her biting her lip, picking at the hem of her long sleeves.

"Be careful."

"Goodbye, Hermione."

He hung up, clenching the phone with all his might, neck straining as he fought to maintain control.

He pushed away from the wall, striding back inside the shed.

The body was lifeless, slumped over in the chair at an unnatural angle.

His shoulders relaxed.

_Everything I do, I do for you._

He slid the door closed behind him.

_For us._

* * *

**Saturday, August 29, 1998**

Sirius drained the last remnants of his coffee before climbing out of the driver side of his sedan, standing with a groan.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, gazing through his sunglasses at the charred remnants of the truck at the bottom of the ravine.

He carefully made his way down, flashing his badge at the officer guarding the scene and ducking beneath the crime scene tape.

"What have we got here?" He asked no one in particular, grabbing a pair of latex gloves off the forensic trolley and snapping them on.

"Oh, the King has arrived. How splendid of you to show up."

Sirius smirked. "Like I'd stay back and let you have all the fun, Snape."

The Lead Forensic Investigator scowled, stepping back from the truck with his camera in hand.

"Single victim found in the driver's seat. Burnt beyond recognition. We pulled the VIN number on the vehicle, it's registered in New York to a Fenrir Greyback. Based on the License photo we pulled it's a likely match, going on skeletal structure alone."

Sirius smothered a yawn into the back of his hand, earning an even more sour look from the man beside him.

"Is this homicide disturbing your beauty rest, Detective?"

Sirius blinked.

"Homicide?"

Snape tipped his head back, peering down his prominent nose.

"The fire's ignition was traced to the backseat. A chemical agent was likely used as an accelerant. As it is highly doubtful the driver doused his own truck in flame and then climbed back into the driver's seat, yes, it is likely a homicide."

Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, say that to me again, except this time try not using your uppity cunt rag accent, makes it hard to understand you."

Snape shook his head, pacing towards the back of the vehicle and looking in the camera's viewfinder.

"What a riot you are first thing in the morning."

He clicked a few buttons, bringing an image of the charred corpse front and center.

"I'll need to examine the body in the lab, but based on what I'm able to see with the naked eye, it appears there are serrations along the sternum and thoracic vertebrae."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me. Gets me all worked up-"

"Which in layman's terms, though likely still too complex for your simple mind to comprehend, means there are markings consistent with a stab wound through the chest. Likely with a long, serrated blade that entered through the front and clipped his spine in the back."

Sirius cringed.

"Fuck."

"Precisely."

He rubbed his neck.

"Alright, so someone stabs our Vic and then torches the truck to cover their tracks." He glanced around the cement structure. "We need to expand our crime scene, look for-"

"While you were waiting in line for your donut and liquid gruel I had my team conduct a thorough sweep of the area."

Sirius raised a brow. "I'm impressed, Snivvy."

Snape's jaw ticked. "Some of us must be extra vigilant to make up for the incompetence of others. As it so happens, Agent Nott found trace DNA on the embankment above."

Sirius took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs, a sudden thought whispering from the back of his mind. He chased it, trying to get a solid grasp-

"I can't tell if you're constipated or having an idea."

Sirius smirked. "I do my best thinking on the can, so I imagine my expressions are the same."

"Disgusting."

"I was just thinking about the last time I saw a case like this…" He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, squinting behind his shades, staring at the blackened truck frame.

"Back when I was still working in Cheshire. A married couple was found in much the same state, vehicle burnt to hell, bodies all but cremated in the front seat." He tilted his head. "But the cause of the fire was never determined."

Snape continued scrolling through pictures on his camera. "I hardly see the correlation. Were they also stab victims?"

Sirius shook his head. "The original investigation was half-assed. I didn't get involved until later, after the bodies had been cremated and returned to the family." His chest tightened. "But something always rubbed me the wrong way about them."

Snape blinked, glancing up. "The victims?"

Sirius shook his head, meeting his dark gaze. "No. Their kids."

Snape tilted his head. "I don't understand. What are you implying? That Greyback was killed by the same assailant as your previous victims or that the motivations were similar?"

"I don't know what the hell I'm implying." He combed his finger through his long hair, scratching at his scalp. "I need at least one more cup of coffee before I start making any sense, even to myself."

Snape gazed at his camera once more. "I have no doubt it's the substance you add _to_ said coffee that triggers your productivity."

Sirius glared. "I stopped drinking after James and Lily-"

"Enough."

Snape's eyes narrowed to lethal slits, gaze acidic. Sirius's fists tightened at his sides but Snape spoke before he could formulate a response.

"Before you go pissing people off by dredging up old cases files, perhaps you should start compiling your suspect list a bit closer to home. If this truly is Greyback, he had a rather long list of enemies."

"Enemies that would line up to kill him?"

"He was accused of raping and murdering a young girl in Syracuse. Luna Lovegood. The charges were dropped due to mishandling of the evidence. Some intern assigned to the case collected a crucial piece of DNA incorrectly and consequently, Greyback was allowed to walk. It caused a huge upset in the town, which likely explains his cross-state move up North."

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "Great. A fucking scumbag."

"Beyond that, this vehicle is tied to a recent robbery and homicide of a gas station clerk about two hours west of here. There were no witnesses on the scene, but someone reported seeing a truck matching this make and model pull onto the service road around the time of the killing. And there's a gun under the passenger seat. Ballistics will tell us if it's a match to the shooting."

"Wait, someone stabbed our Vic when there was a gun under the seat the whole time?"

"It's possible they didn't know about the firearm. Or they did and elected to stab him anyway. A crime of passion, perhaps."

Sirius tilted his head, gazing closely at the side of the blackened, petrified corpse.

"Well, this is going to be a fun one."

Snape shook his head, drawing the camera strap around his neck and backing away.

"I feel it is safe to say the world is no bleaker for Greyback's loss. Assuming this is him, of course."

Sirius perched his hands on his hips, images flying past his mind at rapid speed, pieces of the past mixing with the present.

"The question being; is the person who killed him a misguided vigilante that targeted him for his past, or a homicidal maniac who chose him at random?"

He glanced up at the prolonged stretch of silence, but Snape was already gone.

* * *

**Tuesday, August 25, 1998**

Hermione placed her hands flat on her thighs, doing her best to cover up the expanse of flesh visible past her shorts.

It did little to deter the eyes of the massive creature driving the pickup.

She swallowed lightly, eyes averted to the window, already regretting her decision to get in his truck.

She was so concerned about conserving her money until she got closer to Washington that she had braved hitchhiking over the last several hundred miles.

_Don't lie._

_You know why you agreed to get in his truck._

She closed her eyes, willing the voice at bay.

**You can't block me out, Hermione.**

**Not anymore.**

She gazed out of the window miserably, watching the trees fly past, fighting back tears.

The Other was becoming nearly impossible to control. Ever since her awakening, the night Hermione took McLaggen's life…

**We both know I was stirring long before then, little mouse.**

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek for distraction, hoping the pain would override the chaos her mind had become as of late.

She'd made the decision to uproot her life nearly a year ago when she couldn't stop the vivid fantasies from playing out in her mind's eye night after night.

Sneaking into Amelia's bedroom and slicing her throat…

Luring Lavender into the woods and tying her to a tree, carving the skin from muscle…

And Tom.

The Other _adored_ constructing fantasies about Tom.

Those visions terrified her the most.

Because she wasn't certain where her psyche stopped and the Other's began. She couldn't tell what was contrived from her own imagination, her own hidden longings, and what was implanted against her will.

She was disgusted with herself. But mostly she was afraid of her own mind and body.

So she decided to remove the threat from the equation.

Hermione didn't know how to expel the Other from her brain, how to eradicate her from existence, so she removed her own self from the proximity of those she cared about.

Only…

Tom wouldn't let her go that easily. She knew he would be the hardest one to walk away from.

So she ran.

And she knew she'd never be able to stop running.

Except the hunger was stirring within her. Eating a jagged hole into her gut. The Other was starved… and Hermione suffered the pains.

So when the oversized pickup pulled up beside her on the dirt road, the decision had been made before he even shouted his invitation through the window.

And here she sat, crawling out of her skin, trembling with the pent-up tension, the bloodthirst, the driving need to hunt and _feed_...

"So," the hulking beast at her side startled her from her musings, licking his yellowed teeth, massive hands gripping the wheel. "Where you from, sugar pie?"

She fought back a cringe.

"Connecticut."

Her heart stuttered at the lie. Tom was on her mind even when he wasn't on her mind...

"Is that so? And what's a sweet thing like you doing all the way out here by your lonesome?"

She drew in a deep breath.

And felt claws gently scrape along the walls of her mind.

**Enough of this pervert.**

**Let me take over.**

Her hands tightened to fists.

_No._

**What do you mean _no_? Isn't that the whole reason we got into the Rape Mobile?**

Hermione wet her lips anxiously.

 _No… I mean, yes… but… not_ yet _._

The Other screeched, high and grating, making Hermione cringe, rubbing at her ear.

"You alright over there, sugar pie? Cold? Need me to warm you up a little?"

Her pulse raced.

**You better let me loose, Hermione. If you wait much longer it'll be too late for us both…**

Her heart lurched painfully as he started to turn the truck off the main road.

"Where are we going?" She asked, voice strained with fear.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, darlin, I know a shortcut. Nice and scenic." He flashed a wolfish grin. "You'll love it. I promise."

And suddenly she wasn't sitting in a booze and smoke-addled pickup truck with a beastly predator…

No.

She was in the front set of a Honda Civic with a young, reedy teenager, eagerly pawing at her breasts and thighs, desperately pulling at her clothes, moaning into her ear, pinning her arm behind her back-

**You needed me that night, don't you remember?**

**I stabbed the bastard in the leg for you.**

Hermione blinked, vision hazing at the edges.

**I can save you again, Hermione.**

**But you have to let me out.**

She started to hyperventilate.

The truck pulled alongside a ravine, slowing to a stop.

"Here we go."

He turned the keys, shutting off the engine, reaching over to unstrap his belt.

**Let me out, Hermione!**

_Okay, okay!_

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight, a sudden head rush overtaking her senses, turning her limbs weightless.

She felt the clasp of a massive hand on her arm, squeezing, pulling her across the seat-

Weeds snaked up from the floorboards, wrapping her wrists and ankles, pulling her under the black water.

And then there was nothing but darkness.

.   .   .

Hermione awoke with a gasp.

She blinked, the sea of white covering her vision slowly parting.

To reveal an ocean of red.

She screamed, rearing back, slamming into the passenger door.

She scrambled with the handle, tugging and pulling, desperately throwing her shoulder against the door until it gave way, lurching open and allowing her to tumble out into the grass.

She rolled to her hands and knees, gagging.

**Don't you dare! You leave behind your DNA and we're both fucked.**

Hermione blinked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her forearm.

_What did you do?_

**What does it look like?**

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, running along the slope of her nose and dropping off the tip to the ground below.

_Where did you find the knife?_

A low, sinister laugh.

**In the glove compartment. He's a hunter. I suppose. Reminds me of the blade we used to skin that-**

_Enough._

A sigh.

**Get your shit together and take care of the body.**

Hermione rolled to her back, staring up at the clear blue skies, watching birds cut a path across, soaring wild and free.

_Let them come for me…_

_I can't do this anymore._

**Don't be an idiot.**

**We both know you won't let that happen.**

A heavy beat of silence.

**You're still waiting for Tom.**

Her eyes closed.

_I'm never going to see him again._

**Why bother lying to me, Hermione? You realize it's the same as lying to yourself.**

She swallowed thickly, willing the earth to split open and take her under.

**Stop wasting time and take care of the evidence.**

Hermione sniffled miserably, already running through the best scenarios for burning the vehicle.

**And make sure you search his wallet.**

**We need the cash.**

* * *

**Saturday, August 29, 1998**

The first thing Hermione became aware of was the cold.

She shivered in her brief respite between sleep and wakefulness, coming alert in stages.

The second thing her mind processed was the brightness.

Sunlight, surrounding her on all sides.

The third thing that she noticed was the noise which brought her fully to her senses, a loud cawing of birds and fluttering of wings overhead.

She blinked, glancing around in confusion.

_Am I dreaming?_

Only, as she gazed down at the leaves surrounding her she realized it was merely another nightmare.

Dark ink spilled across the grass, across her jeans and shirt, her pale flesh caked in red.

Dirt under her nails. Limbs sore.

She swallowed weakly, mouth parched, throat bone dry, and tipped her head back, leaning against the tree she'd obviously spent the majority of her evening propped against.

_I wonder how deep I dug the grave…_

And then she lurched.

_Oh my god._

_Victor!_

But even as she screamed the name internally another man's face fluttered before her mind's eye.

_Christ…_

She blinked back tears.

_Oliver._

She pressed a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to keep her heart housed within her body.

_I condemned him to death._

The echo of a distant purr rattled through her skull, vibrating through her limbs.

Her Other was satisfied with her evening meal, slumbering happily in the dark recesses of their shared mind.

Hermione was blessedly alone for the time being.

But the respite wouldn't last for long.

It never did.

She pulled herself into a standing position, swaying on her feet, listing heavily against the tree.

_This isn't a life…_

She closed her eyes.

_It's living death._

Hermione started her long trek out of the woods, back to the main road.

She paused, gazing down at her filthy appearance.

_I can't be seen like this._

She sighed, changing course and cutting a path through the center of the forest.

Fortunately, she knew these woods like the back of her hand.

.   .   .

Hermione was so distracted by her thoughts she didn't realize where she was heading.

Or perhaps she did know and focused on her dark internal musings as a means of distraction.

She slowed to a stop at the buckled American chestnut, the massive trunk cracked down the center.

An eerie silence surrounded the area.

As though even the animals feared the spirits who lurked here.

She sank to her knees before the tree, body quaking as she curled in on herself and wept.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 14, 1995**

Hermione groaned, head ringing. The start of a migraine.

She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes against the faint whisper that fluttered through her mind.

" _Hermione_ …"

It sounded strangely like her own voice.

She swallowed heavily, shaking her head to dispel the strange sound, and glanced over her shoulder at the loosely packed earth.

_Did I go down far enough?_

It wouldn't do to have animals scent the body and go digging it up before it had a chance to fully decompose.

Then again, it wasn't like what she buried was easily recognizable anymore.

She sighed.

_Doesn't matter. Marietta will be announced missing soon enough, they'll start combing the woods._

Her heart stuttered.

_I'm a fucking idiot._

And yet…

She couldn't deny that it felt deeply satisfying to hand deliver comeuppance to her longtime bully.

**This has nothing to do with vengeance and you know it.**

Hermione jumped, spinning around with her heart in her throat.

"Hello?"

She blinked dazedly as a strong wave of vertigo made her stagger on her feet.

**Hermione…**

She gasped, throwing her arms against a nearby birch, feeling nauseous.

"Tom!" She cried on instinct, helpless and desperate.

**Tom's not here, Hermione.**

The voice rang through her head at maximum volume, drowning out the rest of the noise in the known universe.

**It's just us now.**

**You don't need him anymore.**

Hermione doubled over, gagging.

**You have me now.**

.   .   .

She walked numbly towards the main road, trembling like a weed in the grass.

_It's not real._

Tears streamed silently down her face.

_It's just a hallucination. Stress-induced. All very clinical. I can get a prescription for it._

Her knees shook precariously as she stepped out of the treeline and onto the paved vehicle path.

This road cut through the woods and contained no street lights, the only source of illumination the moon above and the distant glow from residential homes.

She took solace in the darkness.

Until suddenly a spotlight fell upon her.

She froze, blinking into it, mind going startling blank as the light grew larger and larger, bearing down upon her.

She cringed, throwing her arms over her head as the sound of screeching rubber filled the endless void in her head.

.   .   .

"This is so unlike her."

"I'm sure she's just at a friend's house."

"She doesn't have friends, Thomas. Not like normal teenagers."

He sighed, turning on the left blinker.

"She's probably at Lavender's."

"I can't believe she'd sneak out like that. Through her window no less!"

"You said yourself you wish Hermione would act more like a typical teen. Well, sneaking out of the house to go to a party is as typical as it gets."

Jean shook her head, crossing her arms. "I was hoping she'd start going to the movies on the weekends, not scale the side of the house at midnight!"

Her eyes narrowed as she gazed out the front windshield. "She never used to act this way until-" she stopped short, teeth clicking with an audible snap.

Thomas turned onto the paved path cutting through the woods, a shortcut across town.

"Until _what_ , Jean?" He clipped, shoulders tense.

"Neverm-"

"Just say it."

Her jaw flexed.

"Until Tom came along, alright?"

His hands tightened on the wheel.

"Tom isn't even here!"

"Well, he's still a major influence on her life! They talk to each other on the phone more than they talk to us-"

"I thought you wanted them to be friends?"

"That's what _you_ wanted, Thomas. Correction. You wanted Hermione to _rub off_ on Tom, isn't that what you said?"

"What's so wrong with that?"

She scoffed.

"Clearly the opposite has happened!"

He turned his head to glare at her head on.

"Are you saying this is my fault?"

"It certainly isn't mine!"

"I beg to differ!"

She reared back. "Hermione was a perfectly behaved child until the two of you came along!"

She shook her head, expression falling. "She wasn't alright with our marriage. I knew something was wrong and I didn't-" she closed her eyes, placing a hand to her chest. "I should have talked to her about it. Pressed her on it."

Thomas sighed, glancing at her once more, reaching a hand over to rest on her thigh.

"Jean-"

"Look out!" She screamed, eyes wide as she gazed ahead.

His gaze shot forward, the outline of a person coming into startling view.

"Fuck!"

He jerked the wheel.

.   .   .

The last thing Hermione saw was a bright light.

The gateway to Heaven?

Surely not.

Monsters didn't go to Heaven. Everyone knew that.

.   .   .

She dived out of the way at the last second, the car narrowly missing her as it plummeted off the road and into the grass, skidding through the mud and crashing headfirst into a massive trunk.

She blinked.

Staring not at the wreckage.

But at her hands.

They trembled as she held them before her eyes, the moonlight glinting off pale skin.

She pressed them to her chest, feeling her heartbeat for the first time.

Her fingers slid down her torso, along her thighs, across her knees.

She started to laugh. She started to cry.

She gasped for breath, filling her lungs with the sweet, crisp air and spoke her first words aloud, a reverent prayer to the darkness.

"I'm free."

.   .   .

Jean blinked slowly.

Her vision hazed in and out.

And then she realized it was smoke surrounding her.

A distant hissing filled the air, drawing her focus.

She tried to turn her head to find the source of the noise, crying out as a sharp pain lanced through her neck and shoulder.

She swallowed thickly, gazing ahead at the shattered windshield, the shards of glass glinting across the dashboard and her lap.

She tried turning her head the other way.

"Thomas!"

He was slumped over in the seat, belt still across his middle, airbag deployed.

But his head rested against the driver's window, a spider web of cracked glass emanating from the point of impact with his skull.

His eyes were closed. But to her immense relief, his chest continued to move up and down at a steady rhythm.

She tried to reach for him but her seat belt kept her firmly trapped in place.

She fumbled with the release, hands trembling so furiously she kept missing the button.

And then something wet fell into her eyes, making them burn, clouding her sight.

She reached up and wiped at the liquid, fingertips glistening red.

_Oh my..._

She felt around her forehead, searching for the source of the bleeding-

And then shrieked in fright as her door swung open.

She spun around, blinking through the red, seeing the vague silhouette of a person standing beside her.

"Oh thank god!" She turned to face them, still strapped in place. "Please, my husband is hurt! Call an ambulance!"

The person leaned over, reaching inside the vehicle to push the release on her belt. As they stretched across her vision cleared enough to see who it was.

"Hermione!"

She threw her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Oh thank god, sweetheart!"

Tears overflowed her eyes as she breathed in the comforting scent of her curls.

"We've been looking everywhere for you! Oh god, oh god! Thomas nearly hit you! What are you doing out here?"

She drew back, clasping her daughter's face in her trembling hands, squinting to get a clearer view in the darkness.

"Hermione? Honey, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She blinked in confusion as Hermione jerked out of her grasp.

"Hermione?"

Jean was able to slide forward now that the belt was released.

"What's wrong? We need to get help! Thomas is really hurt."

She reached out again but the girl stepped back, out of reach.

"I'm sorry."

Jean blinked, blood running cold at the foreign sound of her daughter's voice.

"Sorry for what?" She cringed in pain, neck throbbing. "For sneaking out? That doesn't matter right now, sweetheart, we need to get-"

"I'm sorry that you don't get to say goodbye."

Jean blinked again, shaking her head. "Hermione, you aren't making any sense. Did you hit your head?"

She fell silent at the shrill laughter that emanated from her daughter's lips.

"I don't understand," Jean whispered, leaning back into the car, distancing herself from the chilling sound.

"I know."

Hermione tipped her head, expression falling somber once more.

"You never have."

She licked her lips, eyes gleaming.

"And you never will."

"Hermione-"

"Don't you get it?"

She stepped closer to the car.

"I'm not Hermione."

Jean opened and closed her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood.

"I don't- what are you saying? What's happening?"

Hermione smiled.

Malevolent and lethal.

And at that moment Jean knew in her heart the person standing before her was not her daughter.

"Who…" her entire body shook, "who are you?"

The girl knelt beside her, putting them at eye level.

"I'm everything Hermione could be if it wasn't for you."

Jean swallowed, throat squeezing close, cutting off her airway.

"That's the game you like to play, isn't it? With your _husband_?" Her gaze cut across to the car's other occupant before tracking back. "You like to pretend you're someone else, someone better."

Jean watched her in silence, rendered mute by abject horror.

" _I'm_ that something better."

She leaned forward, face so close her words blew across Jean's wet cheeks.

"I'm the version that's unmarred by your neglect, by Thomas's expectations, by Tom's obsession."

She rested their foreheads together, whispering across her lips.

"I'm the person who's going to save your daughter's life."

She kissed her gently on the mouth, drawing back slowly.

"And for us to live, you have to die."

Jean didn't see the hand move.

She just caught the glint of metal a heartbeat before the searing pain registered in her mind.

She opened her mouth wide but the scream was smothered by the river of blood pouring from her slashed throat.

She grabbed her neck with both hands, trying to staunch the flow, but her palms were too slick, to gash too wide.

Her limbs weakened rapidly, vision fading out.

She gazed at Hermione- _not_ Hermione- but in her final moments, she pretended it was her daughter sitting beside her.

She reached out a trembling, bloody hand and laid it across the girl's cheek, desperate to convey one last message.

Her blue lips tried to form the words but her severed voice box emitted only wet, gurgling sounds.

So she spoke the words in her head, hoping that wherever her daughter was, she would hear. That she would understand.

_I love you._

And then the darkness swept her out to sea.

* * *

**Saturday, August 29, 1998**

Hermione thought she expelled every ounce of emotion she had left within her as she sat on the very ground where her mother expelled her last breath.

And yet walking the front porch of her Aunt's home and Hermione's last true sanctuary caused her chest to quake anew.

She stood outside the front door for several minutes, staring at the wood. And then she noticed the split in the frame, the uneven alignment of the latch.

She gently pushed. The barrier swung on its hinges without resistance.

And she blinked at the sight that awaited her.

Tom sat at the base of the steps facing the front door, arms resting on his knees.

Eyes fastened to her.

"I thought maybe you planned on spending the night on the porch."

She remained frozen to the spot.

He stood, movements precise and graceful, crossing the foyer in a few steps to lean against the broken frame.

"Coming in?"

She blinked again.

The intensity burning in his eyes was mesmerizing, like staring into the sun the moment before it took your sight away.

He extended his hand, a silent offering. She stared at his long, elegant fingers, far too flawless after so many bare-knuckle fights.

She crossed her arms and stepped over the threshold, glancing away, spots appearing before her vision.

He sighed deeply, pushing the door closed behind her, hands curling at his sides as he watched her with careful calculation.

"Why are you doing this, Tom?"

She came to a stop, staring at her mother's portrait hanging above the entryway.

"You know why."

She shook her head.

"No. I really don't."

She heard the steady tread of his steps behind her, slowly circling his prey.

"You do. You're just confused. I can help you."

She laughed miserably, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Help me…"

She swallowed past the obstruction in her throat.

"It's a bit late for that, I'd say."

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his unrelenting gaze.

"I killed them."

He halted, spine straightening as he grew to an impossible height.

"I know."

She blinked, tears falling from her chin, soaking into her blood-drenched shirt.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He took a deep breath, chest expanding out.

"I didn't think you remembered doing it."

She turned the rest of her body to face him, pulse thrumming.

"I didn't."

He tipped his head, eyes searching her gaze. "But you do now."

She glanced away, pain lancing through her chest, crippling.

"I-" she broke off in a sob, knees buckling as she imploded in on herself.

Tom caught her before she hit the floor, pulling her into his body as he fell with her, drawing her into his lap and rocking her gently as she wept into his chest, open mouth screams of misery.

"Shh," he whispered into her temple, running his fingers through her mud-caked hair, rubbing slow circles into her lower back. "It's okay, Hermione. Everything is going to be okay."

She shook her head, too far gone in her suffering to form words.

"I know about Marietta, I know about Jean and Thomas, I know about everything. And I'm going to take care of it. I'm going to take of you."

She jerked back, gazing up, meeting his eye in wonder.

"Marietta?"

He tucked a bloodied curl behind her ear.

"You don't remember her either?"

She blinked.

"I… I don't know…"

**You remember.**

She grimaced, averting her face.

"Hermione?"

**You remember everything that happened that night, Hermione. Don't play the innocent doe. Not for him.**

She gripped the sides of her head. "Stop it!"

Tom grabbed her arms, shaking her. "Hermione! Look at me!"

She gazed at him with terror-filled eyes.

"Hermione." He brought his forehead to hers. The gesture triggered another image in her mind. She gasped.

"Listen to me," he licked his lips, chest heaving against her. "I took care of everything. I threw the detective off your scent. I sold my patent, disbanded the company, cashed out. We have plenty of money to start over."

He wrapped a hand around her neck, tipping her head up, speaking against her lips. "We can leave this place and start over anywhere we want."

She blinked rapidly, vision blurred by tears.

"Start over?"

"Yes."

"And do what?"

"Whatever we want."

She wet her lips. "And what is it you want, Tom?"

His jaw ticked.

"You know what I want."

**To control you. To own you.**

_No… he loves me…_

**He doesn't know what love is.**

A weighted pause.

**Neither do we.**

"Hermione…" his eyes narrowed. "What happened when you were away?"

She tried to pull free of his grasp but his grip tightened, the hand at her neck squeezing in warning.

" _What_ happened?"

"I… I killed a man."

He raised a brow. "Did he hurt you?"

She swallowed, going limp in his hold.

He shook his head, eyes darkening.

"You don't remember it, do you?"

A muffled thump drew her gaze upward. Tom scowled. Her eyes widened.

"Is she still alive?"

"It would appear so."

"Please, Tom, we can't kill her."

"We don't have much of a choice now." He grabbed her arms and started to haul her to her feet. "She knows too much about us."

He started to drag her up the stairs.

"But it doesn't matter. She had to die either way."

Hermione didn't attempt to struggle, knowing it would only feed into his darkness.

Which would only awaken hers.

And she desperately wanted to maintain control.

"Why, Tom?"

"Why?" He bit out, flashing her a murderous look as they reached the top landing. " _Why_?"

She reared back but he merely pulled her forward, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"For us to live, she has to die."

Hermione jolted.

The words echoed through her head on repeat, morphing, distorting, until they were her own words, whispered in her own voice.

Her Other stirred, running her sharpened claws along the thin barrier of their minds.

"What did you just say?" she whispered.

He tilted his head.

"Why do your eyes keep losing focus?"

She swallowed. "I don't-"

"Do you want to be with me, Hermione?"

She inhaled sharply.

**Hermione…**

"I-"

**You know what has to happen.**

"Tom-"

**We have to-**

"Yes, of course, I do."

His eyes flickered between hers a heartbeat before he surged forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

He drove her into the wall, spine crashing into the decorative table, eliciting a gasp of pain from her swollen lips as the picture frames fell to the ground, glass breaking. His tongue invaded her mouth, tracing the backs of her teeth, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling, exposing the pale column of her throat. She moaned like an animal in heat as his fangs scraped the sensitive flesh, leaving twin welts in their wake.

His hands slid down her body and around the backs of her thighs, lifting her slight weight and forcing her against his pelvis, an unforgiving bulge pushing at her most sensitive nerves. He parted her legs, prompting her to wrap them around his hips as he carried her down the hall and into her bedroom.

Neither heard the knock on the broken front door or the footsteps that followed as their visitor entered the house.

.   .   .

Victor knocked on the front door, heart beating through his chest, and blinked in confusion when it swung open easily beneath his touch.

He raised both eyebrows, glancing into the entryway.

"Um… hello?"

Only silence greeted him.

He took a tentative step inside.

"Ms. Applegate?" He called. "I'm looking for Herm-" he stopped short at the muffled groan.

His eyes darted to the stairs.

.   .   .

Tom hissed as Hermione's claws raked his naked back. He reared up, pulling his shirt off with such force it tore at the seems.

And then he descended upon her once more.

.   .   .

Sirius ran a hand over his mouth as he turned off the main road into the quaint subdivision.

It had been nearly two years since he'd driven down this road.

A part of him questioned why he was doing it again now.

And yet…

His gut told him to swing by the Riddle's old residence.

Something about the Greyback murder just… brought up old memories, and caused a tightening in his stomach he couldn't quite explain.

But his instincts told him the remedy to the clenching in his gut would be found somewhere along this road.

And he'd know when he found it.

.   .   .

Hermione thrashed and twisted as he dragged the jeans from her legs. The fabric was stiff with dried blood.

He wrapped his hands beneath the backs of her knees and tugged, pulling her across the mattress and further beneath him. Her small hands braced his chest, face flushed with heat, eyes wild with abandon.

He ducked down, capturing her lips once more as he reached for her underwear, pulling at the elastic, tearing the fabric from her body with his bare hands.

"Tom," she gasped into his mouth. His entire body throbbed.

"Again," he growled against the hollow of her throat.

"Tom…"

"Again."

She moaned.

"Fuck me, Tom."

He jolted.

And then froze.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of their panting breath.

He slowly brought his gaze up to meet hers.

And licked his lips.

"What did you say?"

Her brows drew together, body undulating, fingertips tracing the taut muscles of his arms as he remained poised above her.

"I want you to fuck me."

His jaw ticked, eyes searching her gaze.

His blood ran cold.

"How would you kill me?"

She blinked, arched spine lowering to the bed.

"What?"

His hands clenched beside her.

"We never got to finish our game in the woods. How would you kill me?"

She opened and closed her mouth, nails piercing his flesh as she gripped his biceps.

"I… I don't…"

"Tell me, Hermione." His voice held an edge of warning, one he saw register in her eyes.

Her expression turned guarded, muscles tensing.

"I wouldn't kill you, Tom." She tilted her head, staring up through guileless doe eyes. "I love you too much to- huh!"

He seized her by the throat with lightning reflexes. She gasped, clawing at his wrist.

His iron grip was unwavering.

"Who are you?"

She blinked rapidly, thrashing, trying to kick her legs free from his restraining weight.

A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, hissing across her lips.

" _Who_ are you?"

"Hermoninny?"

Tom jerked, glancing over his shoulder, heart seizing as a large shadow appeared across the hallway wall, growing steadily as footsteps tread up the stairs.

And then a low, sinister laugh filled the room.

Tom whipped his gaze down to the prone figure beneath him. She'd gone limp in his hold, gleaming eyes curved and cat-like, all traces of the innocent prey long discarded.

She licked her lips, grinding her naked hips against him.

"Who am I?" She repeated in a sing-song voice. "I'm your worst fucking nightmare."

Tom blinked, mind racing. And then her expression transformed once more, a perfect replica of abject terror.

"Victor!" She screamed, thrashing anew. "Help me! He's trying to rape me! He attacked Mia!"

Tom hissed, leaping off of her and diving for the door just as the lumbering oaf came charging down the hall, eyes wide and fists clenched.

Tom slammed it in his face, punching the lock, the thin barrier rattling on its hinges as the wooly mammoth threw his weight into it, screaming her name like a man possessed.

Tom sighed, glancing over his shoulder as he tugged his shirt back on.

She drew the sheets around her naked lower half, smirking.

"You haven't won, yet," he said, walking to the nightstand and ripping the drawer open.

"Hermoninny!"

"Help!" She screamed, winking at Tom. "He's crazy! He's trying to kill me!"

Tom extracted the serrated blade he stored away the night before. She chuckled at the sight.

"This should be fun to watch."

He pinned her with a sardonic look.

"Don't get too excited. You're next."

She licked her lips, sprawling back against the mattress.

"Liar. We both know you'd never hurt her."

He narrowed his eyes. "You aren't her."

"No, I'm certainly not." She inspected her nails idly as the door started to splinter down the middle. "But we share the same shell. You kill me, you kill her."

Tom tossed the knife up in the air, the blade spinning end over end before he caught the handle deftly.

"After I gut this moron, you and I are going to get well acquainted."

She sighed, folding her arms behind her head.

"We'll see." She glanced to the door, nearly off its hinges. "This German Shepard has a rather powerful bite."

Tom shook his head, bracing himself as the barrier finally gave way, the hulking knight crashing through, falling into the dresser before he could check his momentum.

Tom used the stumble to his advantage, lunging forward and slashing the man across his forearm. A wide arc of red blossomed across the skin. Victor hissed, rearing back, and then swung with a massive fist.

Tom narrowly ducked away in time, rolling across the rug, slashing the man's thigh.

"Victor!" She screamed, scrambling to her knees, still grasping the sheet. "Kill him!"

Tom rolled his eyes even as he dodged a powerful kick to the ribs. Still, the toe end of a sneaker clipped his hip, throwing him off balance.

"Run, Hermoninny!" His adversary was panting, bathed in sweat and fresh blood. "Get out of here! Get help!"

She nodded quickly, even as she made no movement off the bed.

_Of course not. She wants to watch the show._

_Can't miss seeing my head get ripped off._

Tom licked his lips, slashing out with the blade once more before rolling across the dresser top, landing deftly on his feet in a crouch, surging forward with all his weight and tipping the mammoth off balance, crashing to the floor atop him.

He heard her sigh of annoyance as he straddled his prey.

"Herm-o-ninny!" The man gasped between panting breaths, bracing his hands against Tom's forearms as Tom tried to drive the blade into his chest. "Get- out!"

Tom scoffed, even as he shook, driving the knife down with all his strength.

"You can't seriously tell me this accent doesn't drive you fucking insane."

From the corner of his eye he saw her slide off the bed at a leisurely pace, leaning down to grab her jeans, tugging them on with a pinched expression.

He smiled, teeth gleaming as he watched his prey's face turn beet red from strain, veins standing in stark relief against his neck and forehead.

"She's pouting."

Victor blinked in confusion.

She sighed from the other end of the room.

"Fucking useless," she hissed, slipping her shoes back on. "All that muscle and he can't even get a decent hit in."

Tom winked at the man beneath him.

"Don't take offense, she's not in her right mind this morning."

"Ha fucking ha." She straightened her shirt.

The knife slowly lowered to the man's chest. His eyes widened in terror.

Tom swallowed, arms steadily draining of strength against the onslaught of muscle.

He heard her walk towards the door and growled over his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it."

She tipped her head, slipping a jacket on and pulling her hair free from the collar.

"Goodbye, big brother."

She winked and then disappeared from the room.

Tom gazed down once again.

"As much as I'd love to slit you open from neck to groin, I have a little bitch to catch."

He rolled off of the man, leaving him blinking in shock as he was relieved of Tom's weight all at once.

Before he could so much as rear up, Tom grabbed Hermione's advanced Chemistry book from the top of her dresser and brought it smashing down upon the idiot's skull.

His massive body went limp, head lulling to the side, a thin trickle of blood running the length of his temple.

Tom dropped the book, slumping over, back flat against the floor as he panted, gazing at the ceiling.

He swallowed heavily, pushing himself upright with a groan.

And then he flew out of the room like a demon.

.   .   .

Sirius drew his service weapon as he saw the state of the front door, the frame broke clear off the wall.

"Hello?" He called into the home. "Detective Black requesting entry, any residents make themselves known!"

Eerie silence greeted him, making his skin crawl.

He stepped inside, weapon aimed at the floor, senses on high alert.

"Hello?" He called out, keeping his back to the wall as he made his way to the living room.

A low groan met his ears.

He looked to the floor above him.

A crash sounded, followed by a thump.

He took the stairs two at a time, pausing at the end of the hallway, weapon steady.

"Hello?"

Another groan.

"H-help…"

Sirius rushed down the hall to the room at the far end, realizing as he stepped inside the door wasn't merely open.

It was lying in pieces on the ground.

He blinked at the rumpled bed, then his eyes were drawn to movement beside it.

"Shit."

He holstered his weapon and hurried to the bloodied man on the ground trying to roll himself upright.

"Hang on, kid, let me take a look at you."

Sirius lowered to his haunches, pressing a hand to the boy's chest, pushing him flat.

"Quite a bump you got there." He narrowed his eyes. "Remember how you got it?"

The stranger swallowed weakly, eyes squinted.

"H-he attacked her."

Sirius inhaled sharply. "Who was attacked?"

"Hermoninny…" The boy struggled to sit upright once more. "I need to help her."

Sirius drew back. "Who attacked Hermione?"

The boy wiped the blood away from his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes unfocused.

"Her brother."

.   .   .

She panted lightly as she wove in and out of the trees, knowing the devil himself was at her heels.

What a steaming shit pile this day had become.

Victor was supposed to kill him, take care of the mess for her.

She had lined it all up so perfectly.

Tom would make the perfect scapegoat for their parent's murder. Amelia would be able to testify first hand to his violent, explosive nature, and then Victor had walked in on her would be assault...

Child's play, really.

Her Golden Ticket to freedom had been _right fucking there_.

Only to slip through her fingers.

She swallowed thickly, biting back a scream as she heard something large barreling behind her.

_Fuck!_

She dug deep for the last reserves of her strength, but Hermione was starting to stir, thrashing at the vines binding her limbs, screaming in their head, distracting her.

She gasped as something massive and unyielding collided with her back, knocking her clear off her feet.

She hit the ground hard, the air pushed from her lungs in one violent woosh.

And then hands were gripping her hips, flipping her over roughly, jagged rocks and sticks tearing into her skin.

The face of evil gazed down at her.

Its sinister mate stared back.

.   .   .

Sirius threw himself against the door with all his might, the frame finally splintering beneath his onslaught.

He stumbled into the room, barely keeping his footing.

The blood drained from his face when he saw the figure on the bed.

Hands tied to the headboard, feet bound, mouth gagged.

"Jesus."

He rushed to her side, pulling the cloth away from her chapped lips.

"Ms. Applegate-"

"Hermione," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Where is she?"

He blinked, reaching up to untie the knots at her wrists.

"I'm going to find-"

"The woods."

He drew back, meeting her bloodshot gaze.

"What?"

She attempted to wet her lips, the interior of her mouth a barren desert.

"I heard… her run…" her face crumpled as though in acute pain. "She'll have gone to the woods."

He nodded.

"I'll find her." His jaw tightened. "I'll find them both."

.   .   .

Tom bore down upon her, capturing her wrists in his hands and pinning them to either side of her head.

An image flashed through his mind, a snow-covered ground, a younger version of the same person trapped beneath him, eyes wide with fear, mouth pleading.

The animal he gazed upon now was nothing like that girl, that fragile, delicate creature.

He took a deep breath, expression calm as she continued to thrash and buck.

"You tried to set me up."

She tipped her head back into the grass and laughed, high and maniacal, even as she continued to snarl through snapping teeth.

"You set the pieces up yourself, Tom. I merely knocked them over."

He raised a brow.

"Do you have a name?"

She scoffed, trying to gain leverage with her kicking legs, but only succeeding in upturning clumps of earth. He tilted his head, examining her face carefully.

"Where is Hermione?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Hermione can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message."

He squeezed her wrists, eliciting a gasp of pain.

" _Where_ is Hermione?"

"Somewhere safe. Where _you_ can't get to her."

He blinked.

"You think she needs safekeeping from me?"

Her jaw flexed, eyes narrowing, flames igniting in their depths.

"You only seek to control her. You've always wanted to control her."

"And what do you call what you're doing?"

"Freeing her."

"You're freeing yourself. Hermione is trapped somewhere inside. I can sense her."

She screamed like a feral beast, thrashing anew.

"She doesn't need you anymore! She has _me_."

His chest quaked.

"And when did you come along?"

"I've _always_ been here." She licked her lips, raising her head and smiling into his face. "And I'll _always_ be here."

"You're nothing but a delusion. A parasite. Eradicated with a simple pill."

She snapped her teeth before his face, causing him to jerk his neck lest she take a chunk out of him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, voice laced with venom. " _You_ on the other hand… every cop in the state will be looking for you before the sun goes down."

She laughed.

"You better start running now, Tom. You're wasting precious time."

He shook his head, eyes gleaming. "Nice try. But I'm not leaving without her."

He smiled, dragging her wrists high over her head so he could clasp them with one hand, freeing his other arm to press against her neck.

She snarled, bucking like an animal in its death throes.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as her brain was starved of oxygen.

And gradually, her limbs went plaint, muscles limp.

He panted into her face, slumping against her as she slipped into unconsciousness.

"Hermione!"

He blinked, peering over his shoulder.

He recognized that voice.

"Fucking hell."

He pushed to his feet, gazing down at her slight form, so innocent in sleep.

Such a perfect disguise.

_Hiding in plain sight._

He leaned down, sliding his arms beneath her, standing with a groan, clutching her to his chest.

"Time to go."

.   .   .

Sirius tore through the trees, weapon drawn, mouth agape as he panted for breath and called her name.

He saw nothing but endless trees, bushes, grass, branches, leaves, dirt-

He rotated in a slow circle, the scenery spinning around and around on an endless loop, landscape blurring.

"Hermione!"

He slowed to a standstill, gazing up at the blue sky, hearing only the blood rushing through his ears.

"Hermione."

* * *

**Monday, April 26, 1999**

" _Where_ is my niece, Detective?"

Sirius sighed, leaning back in his chair, watching his visitor pace frantic circles around his office.

"Ms. Applegate-"

"It's been eight goddamn months!"

She marched to his desk, slapping her hands on the counter, eyes livid.

"Eight months since that demented little fuck took me hostage in my own goddamn home and absconded with her! How the hell have you not found them yet?"

"Ms. Applegate, we've followed up on every single lead-"

"Don't feed me that bullshit! There's got to be something you've overlooked-"

"Amelia." He stood, walking around the desk to stand at her side. "We're dealing with two highly intelligent individuals-"

"Are you implying me niece should have found some way to have escaped his clutches by now?"

Sirius fought to keep his tone even and hands relaxed at his sides.

"I think there's a real possibility your niece was in on-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" She pointed a finger at his face, body trembling. "Hermione is an innocent victim in this! She didn't ask for that lunatic to kill her mother, to kidnap her right out of my own house!"

She shook her head.

"You can't seriously think she's working with him."

"I think they were extremely close before the incident occurred. Knew intimate details about each other's lives, schedules-"

"He was obsessed with her-"

"I don't think it was just him." He rubbed a hand over his face.

"We pulled text conversation between them. It's pretty evident your niece is-" he sighed. " _Troubled_. And even more damning is the DNA evidence we found at another crime scene, a stabbing victim who was then set on fire."

She reared back.

" _What_?"

"I didn't want to upset you before, but I think it's time you come to terms with the fact your niece is likely on the run. The reason we can't find her is because she doesn't _want_ to be found."

She opened and closed her mouth, backing into the table, clutching the edge for balance as her knees weakened.

He stepped forward, grabbing her arm to help steady her.

"But I assure you," he squeezed gently. "Nothing will stop me from hunting for Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger."

His eyes burned brightly. "Nothing."

* * *

**Sunday, October 31, 1999**

Tom whistled a merry tune as he trotted up the steps, shopping bag in one hand and mail tucked under his arm.

His pulse raced with anticipation as he started turning the series of deadbolts, beginning from the bottom and working his way to the top.

A dozen in all, installed by his own hand.

Not many licensed professionals would approve of putting locks on the outside of a door.

Fire hazard and all that.

Besides, he didn't want anyone getting any _crazy_ ideas about him.

He pushed open the metal barrier with his shoulder, breathing a sigh of content as he stepped into the living room.

"Honey, I'm home!"

He pushed the door closed and withdrew the keys from his pocket, refastening each lock.

A muffled moan met his ears.

He stepped away from the door, cutting a path into the kitchen, placing the bag and mail on the counter beside the miniature safe.

He punched in the code and deposited the keys inside before closing the thick lid once more, the electric beep of the lock echoing off the tile.

He opened the cabinet and withdrew an oversized bowl, smirking to himself as he dumped the contents of the bag inside.

He grabbed his bounty and started down the hall, stopping at the door at the end.

And started turning those deadbolts as well.

.   .   .

Hermione moaned into the pillow, the sound of scraping metal pulling her from the smoky haze.

She blinked her eyes as the door opened.

Followed by steady footsteps approaching the bed.

"Hello, beautiful."

She sighed, rolling onto her back, hair strewn over her face, obscuring her vision.

She reached up, attempting to push it away, but her hands were clumsy, limbs leaden.

"Wha-" her mouth was parched. She tried to swallow. "What happened?"

He nudged her legs aside, perching beside her, placing his hand on the opposite side of her body and gazing down.

"She got a little overzealous this morning."

Hermione shook her head, eyes closing.

"How… bad?"

She felt his fingers rake across her scalp, massaging the back of her throbbing skull, pushing her hair from her face.

"Tried to slice my throat with a piece of broken mirror. She'd stashed it in the pillowcase."

Her eyes opened.

"How-"

"Shh. Here." He helped her into a sitting position, grabbing the bottled water off the nightstand and bringing it to her lips.

"How was she able to keep it a secret from you?" Something flashed in his eyes, wild and dangerous, fading away in the next moment. "That's the question, isn't it?"

She gulped the water greedily, gasping as he pulled the plastic away.

She licked her lips, water dribbling down her chin. He wiped it away with his thumb.

"I didn't know, Tom."

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. She couldn't bear the silence any longer, glancing down at the bed.

Eyes lingering on the line beneath the covers.

"Tom…" she attempted to move her right foot, cringing as she felt the restraint. "Can you remove the chain?"

He glanced away.

"I have a surprise for you."

She sighed. "Tom-"

"Do you know what today is?"

She dropped her head back against the wall, gazing at the ceiling.

"I don't even know what month it is."

He smirked. "Always so dramatic."

He moved higher on the bed, sliding an arm around her waist as he sat beside her, pulling her into his lap, adjusting his position when the chain scraped against the footboard, restricting her movement.

"Today is Halloween."

He pulled the bowl into her lap, giving it a shake.

"I got all your favorites."

She stared down at the candy, stomach clenching.

"I can't eat that."

He raised a brow, pushing her hair back, lowering his lips to her bare shoulder.

"Why not?"

"The mandrax makes me nauseous. Compounding sugar on top of it will only-"

"Just one piece."

He reached inside, grabbing a teardrop-shaped chocolate and dangling it before her eyes.

"Tom, I'd rather you remove the-"

"The passports will be ready soon."

He started to unwrap the silver foil, arms encasing her. She slumped against him, too fatigued by the drugs still coursing through her system to support her own weight.

"Please-"

"I know you had your heart set on Nepal, but I was thinking Morocco might be better this time of year."

She closed her eyes, cheek resting over his heart.

He brought the bit of chocolate to her mouth, running the edge along her bottom lip. She blinked slowly, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"Tom," she whispered, hands flat against his chest. "Please unlock the chain."

He searched her eyes.

"How would you kill me?"

She swallowed, licking her lips, tasting sugar.

"I'd cut out your heart."

He smiled, parting her teeth with the pad of his thumb and placing the chocolate on her tongue.

Then he leaned in and placed his lips against hers.

"And would you use a jagged piece of mirror to do it?"

She blinked, tears over spilling her eyes.

He cupped her face, brushing away the wetness as he kissed her tenderly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered into her mouth, the chocolate melting into a puddle. "I don't trust you any more than I trust her."

She trembled, hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt as she sobbed silently in his arms.

_I can't go on like this._

Her Other was sluggish, slow to respond through the haze of the drugs.

**The mirror was a good idea. We'll come up with another.**

Tom pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

"I can tell when you're plotting with her, Hermione."

She swallowed.

"It's alright. Once we're out of the country we'll find a treatment. A cure."

She trembled anew, the Other awaking fully, pounding at the walls.

"And then it'll be just you and me again." He slid a hand down her face, fingers resting at her neck. "Just like old times."

She swallowed, the last remnants of the chocolate sliding down her throat as she stared into his heated gaze, feeling the dark weeds crawl along the chain, winding around her bruised ankle, climbing steadily up her leg.

"I'll take care of you."

His words became muffled, distant, the weeds dragging her down down down into the endless black ocean of her mind.

"I'll always take care of you, little sister."


End file.
